The Luxury of Mercy
by Hallowed Huntress
Summary: Bella rushes off to Volterra to save Edward from getting himself killed, only to discover that the Cullens have been keeping a huge secret, as well as the real reasons the Volturi have little-to-no tolerance for so called "vegetarian" vampires. Diverges from canon at the end of New Moon. Bella likes Aro, but no Romance or non-canon pairings. Warning: violence and mature themes.
1. Preface

**AN: This story, like all of my M-rated stories will be following FFnet guidelines-meaning that it's 16+ and won't be containing any explicit content. However, there will be some suggestive themes, violence, character death and possibly morally disturbing ideas discussed, so be warned.**

* * *

><p><strong>Preface<strong>

I'm not the sort of person who boasted having a ton of interesting personality traits, in fact, I would normally conclude that I was a pretty boring person—average looking, average intelligence, average teen with family problems and boy troubles. But if I were to name one thing about me that was unique—aside from my legendary clumsiness, of course—I would say it's my curiosity. Especially in regards to things I would probably be better off living without knowing.

From a young age I was an inquisitive one, always searching out the uncomfortable hidden truths about life and human nature, and facing them head on. It wasn't that I ever voiced these questions aloud—I somehow _knew_ deep within me that if I spoke, no one would understand. That I'd be a freak if I asked my first grade teacher what was wrong in her marriage that compelled her to be so commanding, or ask the pale, scrawny kid in sixth grade who jittered violently in his seat, his face alight with terror, whether it was from vivid relapses of actual events, or simply traumatic nightmares. I knew that, although the evidence to me seemed overwhelming if you looked hard enough, I was sworn to silence by an unwritten pact that humanity hade made with itself. _Don't poke your head into places where it doesn't belong, _it said. _It's not your business _it warned. _There's a perfectly rational explanation for everything, so don't worry… you don't need to know everything _it assured.

Of course, being the reckless person that I was, I had always refused to listen to that sort of conventional wisdom. _Even if I didn't "need" to know everything when strange situations arose… what happened if I wanted to?_ I thought. And so whenever I was confronted with something strange (which, thanks to my unbelievable danger-magnet is quite a lot) I would tirelessly explore every avenue—my mind refused to rest until I was satisfied that I knew the whole story.

Which of course, is how I got into my current predicament—that is, by discovering the existence of, and falling in love with a vampire. Curiosity like mine had a way of attracting the strangest things—and also made me fiercely unwilling to dismiss oddities like ice cold skin, super-speed and recurrent disappearances on sunny days as any kind of "normal," or even to invent a wacky, pseudo-logical, but ultimately mundane explanation like a disease or drug instead of facing the terrifying truth. Even when it was probably better for me to remain in the dark: safer, saner, and not completely shattering to my previous perceptions about reality, I would accept nothing less than the honest-to-God facts, no matter how stomach-churningly disturbing, bedsheet-grippingly terrifying, or mental-soundness destroying they were.

That was the depth of my desire to know.

That was why I was currently the girlfriend of a remorseless, animal-killing bloodsucker.

Certainly Edward's own curiosity about my imperviousness to his mind-reading powers, and my weirdly delicious-smelling blood had also been partially responsible for bringing us together. But I also knew that if I hadn't vigilantly sought out the explanation behind his abnormal behavior, he probably would have pushed me away—and not necessarily because I was just a foolishly smitten high-school girl who was obviously unworthy of his affections. I had recently learned that there was a slim chance that the Cullens could be severely punished from letting me in on their little immortal secret; that their telling me of the existence of vampires violated one of their highest laws, the supernatural "prime directive" if you will, and had I not been so vexingly insistent to discover the reality behind his flaking human mask, it would have been much easier and much safer to keep me in the dark about their true natures.

After I had learned that my knowledge threatened the peaceful existence that the Cullens so evidently enjoyed—that this mysterious and presumably incredibly powerful coven of vampires called the Volturi could possibly take issue with this fact have them destroyed for exposure—I had become incurably worried for their safety. Edward had repeatedly consoled me by reminding me that as long as I did not spread the word to anyone else, the Volturi would likely never know that I knew more than I should (they were not omniscient, after all), but as soon as this fear had mostly abated, another, more pressing dread took its place as I realized that, although it had been over eight months since I had first met Edward, somewhere in my analysis of him and his kind I had stopped short. Instead of scouring every source of information available until I understood the full weight and magnitude of what I was getting myself into, as I usually did when presented with something new and potentially hazardous, I had only indulged my curiosity until I knew what I thought was "enough." And then for some unimaginable reason, I had ceased searching altogether.

It unnerved me, because it was totally out of character to stop mid-investigation like that, and today as I lied helplessly in a meadow beside an undead creature of the night, I was beginning to suspect some sort of foul-play. Initially, I tried to shake off the deep suspicions and doubts bubbling up in my hyperactive mind as totally irrational fears, but as I watched a narrow patch of sunlight throw prisms of rainbow light off of Edward's flawless alabaster face, it struck me that during all this time I had barely known anything about vampires—let alone dared to really confront the darker possibilities.

I knew their basic identifying characteristics: _strong, fast, beautiful, bloodless, ice-cold, heightened senses, lacking a heartbeat, didn't need to breathe, _and _sparkled like a diamond in the sunlight._

I knew a few facts about what blood did to their physiology: _without it—eyes turn black, less physical strength, less control around blood, especially that of humans, with it—eyes turn red, if diet consists of human blood; gold if diet consists of animal blood. Human blood said to be much tastier than animal blood, and some human blood is especially tasty. _

And I knew that some of them had special powers: _telepathy, clairvoyance, mood-manipulation, _and that many of them didn't—but I had no knowledge as to their origin, and if any two vampires could have the same powers or not.

And honestly, that wasn't even enough material to write a stupid five-paragraph essay! _Why on earth had I been so naïve, and was simply content with my paltry knowledge for so long?_ I thought frantically. _Was it perhaps the thrill of first love that allowed me to be satisfied with my ignorance? Had I really spent so much time admiring his extreme gorgeousness that I simply _forgot_ to make any progress in the important task of unravelling the mystery of his vampire nature?_

But ultimately that justification seemed inadequate—I might have been (and still was) somewhat blinded by my head-over-heels falling for Edward, but I could not fathom how my love for him alone could disrupt my natural inquisitive processes. Perturbed by my findings thus far, I turned my gaze from my boyfrined's ruffled, coppery hair towards the mostly grey sky, which was riddled with a few holes here and there letting in sparse shafts of light and chewed on my lip in concentration.

Certainly his exquisite good looks were thoroughly distracting, but while my mind meticulously sifted through my memories of our short time together, it rapidly became clear that this went much further than that. Not only had I halted in my perusal of further knowledge regarding those who had left the mortal coil, but every time that Edward had tried to remind me of the downsides of his existence, I had silenced both him and my own interest in entertaining the possibility of him being exactly what he claimed—a monster. And although the prospect that his description might be correct was a frightening one—especially now, when our relationship had grown so deep—_wasn't it best to consider every likely scenario? Or was it better to be in the dark? _I wondered. "Ignorance is bliss" had _never_ been my motto before….

At first, I thought that I had silenced these questions because they didn't need to be asked—Edward would _never_ allow himself to become the soulless murderer he so obviously feared—it simply wasn't possible. I had been entirely convinced that the laws of physics wouldn't allow it, and thus it would be horribly wrong to entertain thoughts of him being a potential threat because to do so would be a grave insult to him and his overwhelmingly good nature.

But now I wasn't so sure. His warnings were starting to come back to me… _Everything about me is designed to drawn you in, to make you feel safe…. _Could it be that that was precisely what had been going on? At this point, I was fairly well assured that Edward's goal wasn't to eat me, but I was shaken nonetheless by notion that I'd been lulled so quickly into a blind-faith in Edward's strength of character. Was it all part of his "charm"… if it could be called that? Or was I partially to blame for my own hasty acceptance of such an easy feeling of security? Was there a part of me so attached to the idea of being Edward's girlfriend, being able to belong to such a beautiful, powerful, immortal being, that it would throw life-saving caution to the wind?

I frowned at this last thought. I'd never been one for caution—which of course got me into all sorts of trouble—but nothing I'd ever been faced with was truly a significant danger to my life. Scratches, bruises and even broken bones were hardly new to me, so I'd developed a sort of apathy towards danger that didn't appear serious enough to end my existence. But was this relationship between myself and possibly the one creature on earth who had the strongest desire for my blood, really just another manifestation of my extreme lack of self-preservation, or was it more than that? Was it… that the perks of this relationship were so enticing, that I didn't want to even begin to consider the possibility that it might be better for me to butt out? Or was there really something more going on here?

I had told him I didn't care if he felt like I was his heroin, but honestly… I hadn't really understood what he meant… let alone believed it. The depth of thirst he was describing to me was simply unfathomable. I had never experienced anything remotely like that, so I had figured he was being a typical melodramatic teenager and exaggerating his agony. Or simply exaggerating in order to frighten away an undesirable date—because let's face it, I was revolting compared to Edward.

_Honestly, how hard could it be to resist my blood?_ I had thought. While I was sheltered enough to have never experienced any sort of pervasive drug-addiction, in my short life I'd resisted all sorts of delicious-looking treats with little effort—which was basically the same thing, right?

Sheesh, what a drama queen.

Finally though, as I frightfully sunbathed in our favorite meadow, and observed my aloof, immortal boyfriend for a few weeks afterwards, I allowed myself to wonder in great depth—not to simply cater to a surface curiosity, but to launch a profound inquisition—about the enigma that was Edward Cullen.

I wondered about the feral side of him—the side I'd always denied existed, or insisted was heavily outweighed by the recovering-from-a-mild-drug-addict/saint I pictured him to be, and whether there was any part of him which truly reveled in violence, or if he was truly as disgusted by human death as he had once implied. Knowing of his apparent struggles against his ferocious appetite sometimes, I wondered whether there was a certain amount of sadism inherent in all vampires, or if some were somehow immune to that characteristic. I also wondered about his gift, his telepathy, if he'd ever used it to aid him in during the time that he left Carlisle and fed on humans, and if it was really true what he'd said—that he'd only fed on criminals during that time, or if he'd been at any time unable to resist the call of innocent mortal blood. And finally I wondered about the taste and smell of blood from a vampire's perspective, specifically my blood, and what it was to Edward.

At first, there was no significant change in my life from wallowing in these dark thoughts—only a lot more sleepless nights, surreptitious google searches, and crabby behavior on my part. But as I delved deeper, not only into the legends and stories about vampires, but into my own hands-on study of Edward, I began to notice things, about his body language—especially the repressed emotions lurking in his eyes—that had always been there when I was in his presence which until now I had either simply never noticed, been brainwashed into forgetting, or pointedly chosen to ignore.

While my mind struggled to come to terms with the possible ramifications of what I had learned during this clandestine investigation into what it really meant to be a vampire as Edward and I were occupying our favorite grassy hideout, I felt an icy hand curl softly around my wrist, drawing my attention back to the present. Unthinkingly, my eyes turned in response to his cool touch and met with Edward's, which, though on the surface were rich and golden like honey, seem to be suffused with suppressed darkness, like storm clouds lurking within the safeness and comfort of a gilded cage. I swallowed dryly as I recognized the burning hunger behind those eyes. _Do I really promise to be so delicious that you would have seriously contemplated multiple murders just for a taste? _I wondered frightfully.

Edward's melodic voice broke the heavy silence. "It's times like these when I wish more than anything that I could read your thoughts."

I swallowed again—that was not what I wanted to hear, especially now, when I understood with much greater clarity the magnitude of danger I was really in around him. In addition to my rather healthy appreciation of my mind's privacy, for some reason, his request had sounded more creepy than endearing, as I'm sure I would have insisted it was a few weeks ago, and I cringed as I realized that the thought of the owner of that unsettling, purring voice poking around in my brain was about as enticing as the idea of bathing in a bucket of rusty nails. Not to mention that recent findings had caused my paranoia that he might abuse whatever information he could squeeze out of me to skyrocket to ridiculous levels.

"Um… yeah, well… I wasn't really thinking of anything interesting…" I quickly lied, forcing away the noxious guilt I felt by doing so, since Edward had only demonstrated a genuine desire to protect my well-being since the beginning of our relationship. A few dubiously reliable facts about the true intensity of Edward's bloodthirst and the lengths other vampires had gone to fabricate the prefect scenario to feed on someone with blood as delicious as mine should not totally shatter my good faith in him.

Edward continued, thankfully oblivious to my internal turmoil. "Everything about you is interesting, Bella," he paused to sigh, his purplish eyelids fluttering closed for a brief second. "I'm sure your thoughts would be just as fascinating as the rest of you." He trailed off with a contented smile, released my arm from his arctic grip and gazed into my eyes with an ardent intensity.

Normally I would have blushed at such a ridiculous statement, but instead I found myself returning to my previous thoughts and nervously rubbing my wrist where he'd unceremoniously touched it moments before. I was trying to remain calm… but instead I found my heart beating erratically out of control. I was certain he could hear it, and could only hope that he mistook it for butterflies in my stomach instead of this awful dread that had begun to settle over me. I hated that my added knowledge of his nature necessitated so much deceit in our relationship, but I repeatedly assured myself that this was simply a rough phase—we'd get through this, just like everything else we'd been through together.

I couldn't let him in on my recent fears about his desire to consume me, because that would destroy everything we had built through the past months, and I was fairly certain I still loved him. Probably. So my only option was to pretend like I was still hopelessly naïve about everything Edward, and wait until I re-acclimated to his presence now that I better understood the risks. And I _would_ readjust—I was sure of it.

I had to—because I needed him.

But it definitely wasn't going to be easy.

Whenever he's around me now, I saw with startling crystal clarity the heated war waging within him: his whole body would tense into rigid lines and angles, fists clenching and veins protruding so visibly from the tension, I swear they should have popped right out of his forehead and arms. His eyes bored into my soul—cold, penetrating, and tried to look everywhere else but my neck and any other exposed arteries. His lips, shut tightly and nose looked ever so slightly pinched as he refused to breathe, lest he be tempted by the slightest trace. He can no longer convincingly deny it. Even though he swore that he has absolutely no issue resisting the call of my blood after having tasted it, his body language at least seemed to convey the exact opposite: that ignoring the potent allure had only grown more difficult once he knew precisely how delicious the reward was for giving in.

Thinking back on his apparent increase in interest in making me his meal, I shivered now, as Edward circled his arms around me gently and drew me into a frigid embrace. He parted his lips slowly and I let out a shaky gasp as he pressed them languidly to my collarbone, a cold sweat breaking out over my body as I worried for his control now that he could inhale. If he were to ever ask about my strange reaction to his touch, I would blame it on the cold—that he's so cold, and thanks to the fact that he can't read my mind, and his own self-consciousness about his glacial body temperature, he would completely believe it.

As his fingers curled possessively in my hair and around my waist, I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer to whoever might be listening that I could survive this. If I were smart, especially knowing what I now knew, I would run away and never look back. If I were smart, I would tell him that I wanted to call our relationship off and avoid any close physical contact with him. If I were smart, I would not be laying in this field being smothered in cool buttery kisses by a vampire who very much desires to bite into my throat and drain me dry.

But that's exactly the issue. Though inquisitive, I was most definitely _not_ smart. I've allowed myself to become entrapped, lulled into an inescapable cage of affection by his charm, beauty and gentle words. I've been caught in the silky web of hot kisses, lavish gifts and sweet nothings, rolled up in a cocoon of comfort and set aside indefinitely for a later date… either to be consumed, or transformed—or simply to remain trapped here as a human for the rest of my mortal life, if Edward ended up getting his way. I'm in a great deal of danger, submitting myself to his delicate ministrations… one stray thorn in the grass to prick my skin and it could all be over.

But that's not the scariest part. The scariest part, is that, despite this gut-wrenching terror I feel every time he touches me now, I am paralyzed by the comprehension that I can never leave him.

Because I still love him, of course.

And I had promised to love him forever.


	2. Chapter 1: The Fortress

**AN: This chapter takes place several months later-which I hope is obvious-and is one of a few lead up chapters. Anything you recognize is likely directly from New Moon-as I wanted to keep this as authentic feeling as possible, but it will diverge from cannon soon, I promise. I simply wanted to make the transition feel very natural, and not forced. Enjoy. :D**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: The Fortress<strong>

As we made our way through the subterranean tunnel, which Felix, Demetri, and Jane had manipulated us into entering I didn't know whether to be elated at the simple fact that we had survived the madness that had occurred recently beneath the clock tower, or whether to be frightened at the prospect that my fragile mortal life could be swiftly drawing to a close. As I clung to Edward's stiff, strong frame, I tried to focus on the positive—we were both alive and it looked like a negotiation, rather than an assassination was the next course of action, judging by the demeanor of our escorts. Still… that knowledge didn't do much to soothe my frazzled nerves.

Although he hadn't completely gone through with it, due to my timely intervention, Edward had threatened to expose the existence of the supernatural to a large crowd, on St. Marcus' day, no less, in flagrant disregard for the established creeds of vampire law. He'd been begging for death, and although the Volturi had initially denied his request, I worried that this time, in light of what he'd nearly done, that he would get his wish.

My heart sank at the thought of losing Edward again. Despite my growing fear of Edward—especially his thirst for my blood—which had began to manifest itself a few weeks before he'd disappeared from my life, I had quickly discovered that the terror I experienced in his arms was nothing compared to the vast emptiness that was my life without him entirely. Although every cell cried out in alarm whenever he drew too close, or abandoned the caution that seemed to be keeping me alive, perplexingly living without his presence in my life had been torturous—every day I felt as though a new piece of me died, leaving behind a broken shell of a girl, spiraling seemingly without end deeper and deeper into despair. He is what I had lived for, and no other motivation seemed capable of filling that hole, as much as I wished it would.

Jacob's presence had been a necessary tether, keeping me sane and keeping me alive, but ultimately there had been no escape from the crushing emptiness that Edward's absence had brought, except a tiny reprieve in the form of fleeting hallucinations which curiously only appeared when my body was surging with adrenaline. Initially, I worried for my sanity and wondered if I should instead try to avoid my visions of Edward like the plague, but as time wore on and my withdrawal from his affections grew more severe I eventually came to embrace them. The images had been vague and flickering, but his voice had been painfully accurate, and even though it was always staunchly reprimanding me for my dangerous recreational choices, as he would have done if he were there to witness them in the flesh, it had been the only balm for my aching heart.

At least until said hallucinations spurned me to dive off a cliff, and Edward had misinterpreted that to mean that I was dead.

Now that he was physically before me again, I had hoped that the months apart would have so profoundly demonstrated that I loved and needed him that my probably irrational fears that he would suddenly loose control would have been completely overwhelmed entirely by the sheer joy of being back in his presence. However, I was distressed to discover, as he gripped me tightly in the darkness of the sewers with one arm, and delicately held my face in the other, that my body still responded as though it was in mortal danger.

I struggled to breathe as he traced his thumb gently over my lips, and down my chin, the icy temperature stinging against my cool flesh, and my whole body tensed, every tendon freezing in place, rigid and unyielding as he lowered his head softly into my damp hair, and buried his nose in the stringy locks. I shuddered in his grip as it suddenly tightened around my waist, and adrenaline ran hot in my veins—preparing me to fight him off or flee. He inhaled sharply, taking in my scent with much more force than he usually dared, and I jumped, and very nearly shrieked at his unusual behavior.

My heart was thudding in my ribcage with such a thunderous force, I swore it would burst. _He took a huge whiff of my scent._ I thought in horror._ I'm going to die, in this dark tunnel… torn apart by my boyfriend. Which is terribly ironic, since the only reason I'm here is to _prevent_ death. I am so dead, I'm so dead, I'm so dead, I'm so dead, imsodead, imsodead, imsodead… _

I tried not to panic—okay so I was already panicking, but I tried very hard not to let it show for several reasons. The first was that it was, in some ways, a completely irrational fear: Edward had never once lost control around me, and we'd been dating for quite some time, during which he'd demonstrated much greater abandon—he'd put his tongue in my mouth for heaven's sake! The second was that I didn't want Edward to be alerted to my fear and distance himself anymore from me—I couldn't bear to lose him again, because this time I believed it would probably be the death of me, knowing how my hallucinations of him had driven me into such reckless danger before. And the third was that letting my fear show in the company of unfamiliar vampires who had no respect for human life, and dubious intentions towards those I cared about wasn't the most intelligent idea.

I cursed myself and my insatiable curiosity for ruining my security in Edward's arms just before he abandoned me in Forks, and possibly for the rest of my life. Although I knew it was a possibility, that I could become dinner for any vampire, I was not afraid of Alice, or any of the other Cullens, for that matter. Even Jasper's hungry stares before he had lunged for me had not triggered the same alarms that Edwards gentle, loving touches did. It baffled me that after coming to understand how deeply vampires thirsted for blood, especially blood like mine, that I was so negatively affected by him. Certainly the restraint he had demonstrated during the months we were together should have allayed those fears….

I was so lost in my thoughts, and the gloom of the dark stones encircling us, that it took me a while to notice that I was shaking, violently, in Edward's icy grip. My first instinct was to suppose that it was in fear—the source of most of my shiver's lately, which wouldn't have been an unreasonable assumption, given the fact that we were currently in the company of several imposing, and possibly very powerful vampires, in an unfamiliar location, trudging towards an unknowable fate. However, that theory was completely blown out of the water when my teeth began to chatter, the clacking of bone against bone echoing loudly in the darkness.

It made perfect sense, really: my clothes were still considerably wet from my traipse through the fountain in the center square, and as the water evaporated they acted as a natural air conditioner. Additionally, the temperature here in the sewers beneath the city was far colder than the sunlit surface, for obvious reasons. What really magnified the intensity of situation, however, was the fact that I was tightly secured in Edward's sinewy arms, which despite the small respite they offered from our impending doom, were the temperature of Antarctica.

In short, I was losing body heat—_fast_.

Suddenly, Edward must have understood that his arms around me were contributing to my suffering, because he abruptly untangled himself from my grasp, retaining only one of my hands in his. It was a noble gesture, so entirely like Edward, but that was not what surprised me. It surprised me that I was pleased that he had stepped back—that he had placed distance between himself and certain temptation.

As we strode further apart, although with our hands still clasped, my heart resumed a steady pace, and my muscles relaxed, the tremors of fear dying down to manageable whispers. I was content, and I found myself repressing the urge to heave a sigh of relief. My reaction confounded me.

Normally—that is, before I'd developed a suffocating fear of him—I would have insisted he still hold me, despite the impracticality of clinging to an ice-cold surface whilst freezing to death. I would have chattered out "N-n-no," or something similarly pathetic, and desperately thrown my arms around him, sacrificing my health and safety for a few more minutes in his arms. I briefly considered doing just that—before I instead settled on tightening my grip on Edward's hand. I loved him, I was almost sure of it… but the unnerving glances he sent in my direction every so often in the dark, his glinting eyes pausing longer than necessary on my exposed neck and arms made me uneasy with the idea of returning to a closer proximity.

We hurried through the rest of the dank tunnel, in agonizing silence, and at the opposite end we were met with a large black grate, with thick, rusty iron bars—formidable, even in their state of obvious decay. A small door made of thinner, interlaced bars was inset into the grate, and standing open, as though someone had come before us, expecting our arrival. Edward effortlessly ducked through the opening and hurried on, into a larger, brighter stone room, and I heard a brief rustling of cloaks as Felix and Demetri trailed in after us.

The grille door slammed shut with a vibrating _clang_, after we'd safely passed through, followed by the shrill snap of a lock. Whether that sound meant we were being locked in, imprisoned within this underground fortress until the Volturi saw it fit to release us—if that was their intention—or if it only meant that wayward humans were being locked out, I did not know. I wasn't afforded much time to ponder the issue, however, before we rushed onwards through the bright room, Jane walking swiftly ahead of us, her dark cloak billowing around her, and Felix and Demetri lurking not too far behind.

As our party approached the other side of the long, empty room, my worried eyes settled on a low heavy wooden door, chocolaty in color, and covered in intricate floral carvings. It was very thick—and I could tell because it, too, stood open, waiting for us. Edward and Alice followed Jane quickly through the doorway, and I nearly had to break into a run to prevent myself from being embarrassingly dragged along behind him. Once I adjusted to my companions' increased pace, I surveyed my surroundings in surprise, the residual buildup of tension I had acquired during our journey so far immediately leaving my shoulders.

I saw an elevator, along with other modern architectural features which surprisingly put me at ease—I suppose anything seemed better that the suffocating gloom of the sewers. However, Edward did not appear to share my sentiment, as the sight caused all his muscles to ripple and contract defensively, and his jaw clenched tight. Jane waited expressionlessly for us by the elevator, one hand easily holding the doors open as we swiftly piled in. Once we were all inside the elevator, the three vampires that belonged to the Volturi suddenly threw back their dark cloaks, letting the hoods fall back dramatically on their shoulders—eliciting a short, sharp gasp from me, as I expected some sort of violence to follow the sudden movement.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel cool, blunt teeth carving through my flesh… but the sensation never came. Tentatively, I slid open my eyes, and saw the three standing perfectly still, staring expressionlessly at the shiny elevator interior.

I chastised myself for freaking out over sudden movements—even Edward carried out mundane tasks with inhuman speed at times simply because it took effort to do everything at the painfully slow and deliberate pace which was normal for humans. Gathering some of my courage, I seized the opportunity to examine the attire the Volturi wore beneath the cloaks. Jane wore a simple knee-length black dress with girlish white tights and low black heels—an outfit that managed to look both juvenile and imposing without any pieces that were by themselves overly unusual. In contrast, Demetri and Felix were both dressed very maturely in black suit pants, dress shoes and simple button-up shirts—though Demetri's shirt was of the darkest black, while Felix's was a deep scarlet. All three wore a silver pendant secured over their unbeating hearts with a thin silver chain, which was in the shape of a capital "V", accompanied by a small crest bearing what appeared to be the Volturi coat of arms.

I was shaken from my thoughts when Edward misinterpreted my serious gaze on our escorts, and hesitantly reached up to brush across my arm—a reassurance, a comfort, a promise of protection. I jumped back at the icy contact against my skin, and stifled a scream by biting my tongue. He quickly retracted his hand, as though it'd been burned, and a look of hurt flickered briefly across his face, before he composed and directed his amber eyes back towards the other vampires. I swore his fierce golden eyes were boring holes in Jane's pretty little skull with the intensity of his glare.

Although tense, awkward and uncomfortable with so many vampires in a relatively tight area, the elevator ride was fairly short. As the shiny doors slid open we stepped out in to what appeared to be a high-class office reception area, and I blinked quizzically at my surroundings—the Volturi certainly had a _very_ different aesthetic going on here than in the sewers. The walls were paneled in rich mahogany wood, the floor carpeted in a thick, deep green, and the walls awash with friendly, classy neutral tones. Pale leather couches were arranged tastefully in cozy groups, and the glossy tables beside them supported an array of crystal vases full of vibrantly colored bouquets. The only thing which seemed to be lacking in the room's design were windows, however many large, brightly lit paintings of the Tuscan countryside hung everywhere as replacements.

The obvious focal point of the room, though, lied in the center—a high, polished mahogany counter, which looked far too beautiful to actually be of any practical use as a desk. For a moment I was so entrapped by the impeccable interior design of the room (something which I had believed to be reserved only for ostentatiously wealthy celebrities and people in movies) that I had failed to notice the woman who sat behind the counter. When my eyes finally registered her presence, I felt my jaw unhinge. She was tall, with dark skin and green eyes—a striking beauty who would have outshone all those around her, if she had not been surrounded by inhumanly beautiful vampires. It was obvious, not only from the color of her eyes, but from the subtle lack of grace in her movements, and warm flush of her cheeks that she was every bit as human as I was.

But that wasn't the only reason I was gaping—she seemed perfectly at ease, smiling genuinely, and warmly at our approaching entourage of vampires, and offering a small wave. Though she kept her demeanor polite as she greeted us, I could tell that beneath the surface she was bubbling over with excitement—eager to please, and… _honored_ to be chosen for the task. It was clear from our brief interaction that she was well aware of the fact that the company she kept wasn't human—there was no surprise in her face as she glanced at Edward, his bare chest glinting dimly in the white lights, or even me, wet, disheveled and comparatively hideous.

I suppressed a shudder as I tried, and failed to understand her motivations—certainly she had to know that the Volturi thought very little of humankind and wouldn't hesitate to dispose of her on a whim. Or did she? Did she know that the Volturi selfishly murdered innocent people? I couldn't imagine that she could be completely oblivious as to what her employers ate, but it disturbed me that she might not care. Or even worse, that she might wish to someday join them….

Jane nodded in the direction of the human secretary—if that's what she could be called—and acknowledged her by name. "Gianna." Her voice wasn't tinged with anger or annoyance, but neither did it seem overly fond either—it was neutral, polite. After a brief exchange of formal pleasantries with the woman, Jane continued toward a set of tall double doors in the back of the room, and we followed anxiously.

As Felix sauntered past the receptionist's counter, he winked at Gianna flirtatiously, and she giggled, a deep rose blush coloring her cheeks.

On the other side of the wooden doors we were greeted by a pale boy in a high-collared, double-breasted black jacket, long black cloak, and with the telltale silver Volturi crest hanging from his neck who easily could have been Jane's twin—his hair was a shade darker, and his lips were not as full, but his face the same childlike loveliness and movements the same vampiric grace. He came forward to meet us, smiled ever so slightly, and immediately reached for her. "Jane," he breathed her name barely more than a whisper.

"Alec," she responded, a faint trace of relief in her voice, as though she had greatly missed him, slipping past her impassive mask. She rushed to embrace the boy, wrapping her petite arms around his lithe torso, and they kissed each other's cheeks on both sides in greeting. It was quite the scene—and I had no idea what to assume of the nature of their relationship. They could simply be affectionate siblings… or they could be lovers… or _both_.

I quickly dismissed that thought—even though I knew vampires couldn't have children, brother-sister incest was still way too gross to think about.

Suddenly, the affectionate pair's crimson eyes were on us, although their arms were still firmly locked around each other. Alec surveyed the group before him curiously before speaking. "They send you out for one and you come back with two… and a half," Alec noted, looking at me, the corner of his mouth turning up a mischievous smirk. "Nice work."

Jane laughed, high, and rich—the sound sparkled with delight and her red eyes glittered with mirth. For the first time, since meeting her she seemed genuinely happy. It was… unsettling, to say the least… but after another, brief moment of awkwardness, the "twins" detached from their prolonged embrace and Alec swept out his hand in an inviting gesture.

"Welcome back, Edward," Alec greeted politely, "You seem in a better mood."

"Marginally," Edward grudgingly agreed, his eye's threatening to roll at Alec's rather _optimistic_ statement. I hazarded a glance at Edward's face, which was rigid, sour, and nearly seething, and wondered how it was possible for his mood to have been darker before, because I'd never seen Edward this morose and yet furious at the same time. It startled me, and once again I found myself torn between inching away from a possible threat, and gripping tighter to my only lifeline. After a few moments of frightening indecision I finally settled on continuing to hold his hand, for now—better a known danger than an unknown one.

"Aro will be so pleased to see you again," Alec said, swiftly changing the subject.

"Let's not keep him waiting, "Jane suggested, impatience coloring her tone.

Edward nodded once—short and acquiescing. Alec and Jane, holding hands, and exchanging knowing looks that made my stomach turn, led the way down yet another wide, ornate hall. They ignored the doors at the end of the hall—doors entirely sheathed in gold—instead stopping halfway down the hall and deftly sliding aside a piece of paneling to expose a hidden, plain wooden door. It wasn't locked, or protected in any other manner than its discreet location—which made it even more ludicrous that they felt the need to hide it. Certainly the only people who would have access to this elaborate underground would be the Volutri and their servants. Suddenly I recalled the human receptionist who'd greeted us before we met up with Alec—Gianna. Maybe they didn't want people like her prying into places they shouldn't. Or maybe it was just for the ambiance… the Volturi, so far, were an _interesting_ group, to say the least.

Alec held the secret door open for Jane, and we scurried into the room after him. I wanted to groan when Edward pulled me through to the other side of the door—the room was lined with the same ancient stone as the square, the alley and the sewers, and like the sewers it was dark and cold again. At least it wasn't damp, and laced with the faint odor of rot—a small consolation really, but I was grasping at strings here, and not about to relinquish any peace of mind I could get my hands on.

Luckily, the stone antechamber was small, and opened quickly into a brighter, cavernous room, which initially calmed my nerves, until our escorts came to an abrupt halt and I recognized that we had reached our final destination. A suffocating shroud of dread fell over me as I conjured up every possible scenario that could befall Edward, Alice and I in this remote place, and was disturbed to find that I had a very vivid imagination of various ways we could meet our demise.

My gut feeling was that whatever lied ahead of us was going to be extremely unpleasant—my only request of whatever forces might assist us was that Edward would leave alive.

I figured my death was already well assured.


	3. Chapter 2: First Encounter

**AN: There is a reason I put this story in the "suspense" category and I think it starts to show in this chapter. Don't kill me when you reach the cliffie! Also, I'd just like to say that I'm really grateful for all the lovely reviews and favorites I've gotten. It's so inspiring to get so much feedback-thank you so much!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: First Encounter<strong>

The room we now occupied was perfectly round like a huge castle turret, and as I quickly glanced around looking for any possible threats, noting the medieval architecture and the rusty drain in the very center of the circle floor, I surmised that was probably exactly what it was, given the Volturi's ancient history and eccentric tastes. It was far from impossible for a middle ages fortress to sink beneath ground level and become the palace of the vampire "kings" as its existence became forgotten legend to the inhabitants above, and for a moment I was distracted from our current predicament as I searched for any obvious clues to pinpoint exactly which century the original structure had been erected.

Although dating the room proved fruitless, during my examination of my surroundings, I noticed that neither the coffered dome ceiling nor the pale stone walls supported any artificial lights, or even an old-fashioned wax-dripping chandelier which would have likely originally lit the place while it was still in human use, though two stories up a series of long window slits had been carved into the thick rock, which were throwing thin rectangles of bright sunlight onto the shadowy floor below. And as dim as this lighting was in comparison with the unbroken midday brightness outside, even with my inferior human vision it was enough to allow me to see relatively well.

I also noticed that the only furniture in the room were several massive wooden chairs—ebony, from the looks of it—and covered in ornate filigrees of jet and gold, which were imposing, expensive and regal, like thrones. And although these regal seats were spaced unevenly, flush with the curving stone walls, their rich grandeur and positioning atop a small dais with curved steps leading up to it clearly indicated that they were meant to be the focus of the room.

As I continued to take in my surroundings, frantically searching out any possible sources of doom, I watched as a sizeable crowd of people poured into the room from the entrance door behind us, the murmur of their low, smooth voices creating a gentle hum in the air, like bumblebees on a warm summer day, and their exposed skin tossing light in rainbow sparkles against the sienna walls. Their exquisite faces all turned toward our strange party as we entered the room with curious, but otherwise disciplined, unreadable expressions, before they went about business as usual, fanning out in a lose circle around a lone figure standing in the center of the room.

The congregate of thirty or so red-eyed vampires effortlessly assumed their positions with breathtaking grace, and although it seemed to be a trend among the Volturi to favor red and black, most of the immortals were dressed in suits, skirts and dress shirts which were simple, and inconspicuous in their design—articles of clothing that wouldn't particularly stick out on the streets below.

But the man in the center of their daunting formation wore long, pitch-black robes, of an expensive looking material, which brushed against the floor, and were of such a striking cut, they managed to be both thoroughly majestic and subtly sensual at the same time. The robes were tailored perfectly to his body, allowing the seductive shapes of his lean shoulders, chest and arms to be proudly showcased without being overly tight, and the high neck, long cuffs, and wide hem were covered in elegant, swirling embroidery. In addition to the robes, there were also thick silver chains across his chest which supported long black cape, of a different, though equally luxurious material, and for a moment I thought his long, jet-black hair was a hood. He too wore the silver pendant of the Volturi, the gleaming whitish metal in stark contrast with its black backdrop—although his looked slightly different than the others', more ornate, perhaps.

I racked my brain through my scant knowledge of historical fashion, trying to pinpoint what Era he was emulating, but like with the castle itself, I came up with nothing—no mortal I'd ever seen dressed anything like this.

Suddenly this man spoke, "Jane, dear one, you've returned!" he cried in evident delight, his voice just soft of sighing, and carrying a lighthearted tone which normally would have seriously creeped me out in this situation, but was so musical, so unique, I could only marvel at its inhuman beauty. I frowned as wondered if I would still be smiling at the gorgeous sound if his heavenly voice condemned me to death, which was a definite possibility, given the forbidden knowledge I possessed.

It unnerved me that I couldn't definitively say "no."

Suddenly, the robed man drifted forward and the movement flowed with such surreal grace that I gawked, my mouth hanging open as the fabric rustled and billowed elegantly while he glided closer. Even Alice, whose every motion looked like dancing, could not even begin to compare, a fact which had me torn between retaining my white-knuckled grip on Edward's icy hand, and dashing towards this breathtaking creature.

I only became more astonished as he floated closer, the entire group converging around him as he did so, and I could clearly make out his face. Although otherworldly, with translucently white skin, piercing red eyes, and lustrous, long black hair that spilled smoothly over his shoulders, his features were utterly perfect. There was too much contrast between his marble-white skin tone and his midnight tresses for him to meet any human standard of male beauty, not to mention most cultures didn't consider any shade of red to be an appropriate color for eyes, but in an instant I knew without a doubt, he was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.

I suddenly released my grip on Edward's hand entirely, and was shocked as I realized fear was the furthest thing from my mind at this moment—even though all rational evidence seemed to indicate that I was probably in more danger around this magnetizing being than I'd ever been in my entire life. I felt a strange, horrifying urge to touch his cheek, to feel the texture of his smooth, alabaster skin—my hand even lurched out slightly in an attempt to perform the action before I contained the desire, although it was futile anyway, as he was out of arms-reach.

His eyes briefly flickered in my direction, brimming with a dark, excited curiosity, before they turned to Jane, as though nothing had occurred. It hadn't been more than the barest of glances, but I felt my breath catch in my throat and my temperature rise substantially. His gaze was so intense, so _sultry_, I felt like my whole body had been engulfed in flames, and wanted nothing more than to kiss him, preferably passionately.

…_Where did that thought come from? Is he manipulating my thoughts? My emotions? Is this his special skill? Extreme sex-appeal? _

I glanced worriedly up at Edward's impassive face and hesitantly reached for his hand again, fretting that his superior senses had probably picked up on my sudden, uncontrollable attraction to this man, who was supposedly our enemy. While it was true that we probably needed his cooperation in order to leave, as he seemed to carry the authoritative air of one who ran things around here, I didn't think Edward would appreciate me making out with him, or even fantasizing about it like I was right now. Would Edward conclude that I was betraying him, by this sudden influx of desire, and no longer want me—since it was now obvious that I was ridiculously shallow?

Edward however, seemed to be entirely oblivious to my perverse internal struggle, instead his body was tensed, rigid and murderously focused on the seductive figure in the robes as he drifted silently over to Jane, his luxurious cape rippling majestically behind him as he moved fluidly from his central position in the room. Unexpectedly the man took her cherubic face in his thin hands, kissed her lightly on her full lips, and then floated back a step as though nothing particularly profound had occurred. Judging by the unmoved facial expressions of the rest of the vampires in the room, Edward and Alice included, everyone else seemed to think nothing of it, but I felt a strange rotten feeling gurgling in my stomach at the thought of this man wasting a heavenly kiss on Jane, no matter how platonic… I couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason, but it soured my mood considerably.

"Yes, Master." Jane smiled; the expression made her look like an angelic child. "I brought him back alive, just as you wished."

"Ah, Jane." He smiled too, content. "You are such a comfort to me." His smile, though slight, sent another violent tremor of desire through my body, which I thought couldn't become any stronger until he abruptly turned his piercing eyes toward us, and then his smile brightened—became ecstatic. My heart lurched in my chest at the sight—whether from fear, or fascination, lust, or some heady combination of all three, I had no idea.

"And Alice and Isabella too!" he rejoiced, clapping his thin hands together, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls, "This _is_ a happy surprise! Wonderful!"

I stared in shock as he called our names informally, as if we were old friends dropping in for an unexpected visit. Before I could even begin to wonder how he knew our names, however, he swiftly turned to our hulking escort, his cheek catching in the light and glittering dazzlingly. "Felix, be a dear and tell my brothers about our company. I'm sure they wouldn't want to miss this," he requested politely, his tone effortlessly gentle and yet teeming with excitement.

"Yes, Master." Felix gave sharp, affirmative nod and disappeared back the way we had come, his form a hazy blur of black and red as he dashed off with untraceable speed.

"You see, Edward?" The strange vampire turned and smiled at Edward like a fond but scolding grandfather. Inexplicably, both my hands flew to my thundering heart in a futile attempt to still its excessive throbbing—his beauty when he smiled was far too much to handle. "What did I tell you?" he continued. "Are you not glad that I did not give you what you wanted yesterday?" he said with a deviously gleeful look, as though there was something particularly ironic about his statement which I failed to understand.

_This was the man Edward had asked to kill him?_ I thought disbelievingly. _I suppose he looks powerful enough to perform the task if Edward did not_ resist, I acknowledged, scrutinizing his lean muscles skeptically,_ but still… _I willed myself to feel uneasy about this man—certainly the fact that I felt an overwhelming attraction to him out of nowhere and the fact that he could have murdered the one I loved should have warranted at least that. But none came.

Clearly, I was going insane.

But hadn't my earlier hallucinations already proved that?

"Yes, Aro, I am," Edward agreed curtly, unexpectedly thrusting a hard, cold arm around me, and tightening it with almost bone-crushing force around my waist, which earned a dubious and bewildered look from the vampire he was addressing, before Edward's eyes narrowed at him, and lips slid apart to reveal straight, bared teeth—an action that was accompanied by the barest of snarls. It hit me that Edward could probably read his thoughts, given our proximity, and wondered if some of the reason for his fingers digging into my stomach was whatever Aro was thinking.

"Oh, I love a happy ending," Aro sighed whimsically as his mesmerizing red eyes settled over my disheveled form with an expression that was simultaneously elated and triumphant. "They are so rare," he continued, bringing his pale hands together in front of his broad chest and tapping his fingers against each other idly, as though lost in thought for a moment before his expression rapidly darkened and grew serious.

"But I want the whole story," he intoned. The tenor of his voice was still flawlessly polite—but the fierce look in his gleaming red eyes left no question that it was a demand, not a request. "How did this happen? Alice?" He turned his suffocating gaze at Alice with unbound curiosity flickering eagerly in his wild eyes. "Your brother seemed to think you infallible, but apparently where was some mistake." His tone was undisguisedly perplexed, but his face was devoid of concern—instead a wide smirk twisted his mouth, and he looked thoroughly amused.

"Oh, I'm far from infallible." Alice admitted easily, with a casual shrug of her shoulders as she flashed him a dazzling smile. Again, that unfamiliar nausea settled in my stomach at the realization that Alice's beauty far outshone my own, and Aro was probably well aware of this fact. Normally I would have labelled it as simple envy—but it was a darker emotion than that, one that made me not only wish that I was a vampire, but that I could tear her pretty little head off her delicate shoulders with my vampiric strength.

Alice seemed oblivious to my briefly murderous thoughts—instead she looked perfectly at ease, except that her hands were balled into tight little fists, probably from frustration with our current situation. She continued in her explanation: "As you can see today, I cause problems as often as I cure them." I sensed her final comment was more out of desire to curb Aro's exuberant enthusiasm about her abilities, and erase the predatory look from his eyes that surveyed her like a valuable prize, than out of actual humility.

"You are much too modest," Aro chided gently, "I have witnessed some of your more amazing exploits, and I must admit I have never observed anything like your talent before. Wonderful!" he exclaimed, clapping his long fingers together again and raising them to his mouth, his vulturine eyes never leaving Alice's frightened black ones.

A intensely worried expression flickered over Alice's pixie-like features. Clearly Aro's attentions were disturbing her—although I was far too busy wishing those predatory eyes had settled on me instead, to sympathize with her apparent plight. To be desired by this alluring creature for any reason that didn't involve execution or becoming dinner was a miraculous blessing. I wished, more than anything that there was something unique about me that would pique his interest like that. All thoughts of Edward and the possibility of our imminent deaths fled my mind—all I wanted, was _him._

Aro did not miss Alice's involuntary facial response, but neither did he choose to comment. Instead, his gaze turned toward me, and I felt myself heat up once again as his beautiful eyes roved over my figure, taking in my stringy wet hair, my simple jeans and shirt, littered in damp spots and dirt, and settled on my wide brown eyes. I struggled to breathe.

"I am terribly sorry, we have not been introduced properly at all, have we? I simply feel like I know you already, and I tend to get ahead of myself. Your brother introduced us yesterday, in a peculiar way," he explained, and I understood that by "brother" he was referring to Edward—treating me as though I was already part of the Cullen's coven and therefore a "sister" to everyone within it. My head reeled from the implications of his statement, and I wondered how Edward could have introduced me without me being present.

"You see," he continued slowly, shaking me from my thoughts, "I share some of your brother's talent, only I am limited in a way that he is not." Aro shook his head sorrowfully; his tone was envious and I wondered if Edward's gift really was something worthy of coveting—I'd always assumed it was… fairly normal as far as vampires went. But judging by Aro's barely contained excitement with both Alice Edward's abilities, I realized that they were quite possibly rare, and valuable commodities in the vampire world.

"And also exponentially more powerful," Edward butted in dryly, trying to shake off Aro's high praise. He swiftly looked toward me and my deeply bewildered complexion before he explained what he meant. "Aro needs physical contact to heart your thoughts, but he hears much more than I do." He paused for a moment, contemplating carefully his next choice of words.

"You know I can only hear what's passing through your head in the moment," he said finally, and I slowly nodded, uncertain as to what Edward was implying. Edward gestured toward Aro slightly and finished, his tone grave and dramatic. "Well, when he touches you, Aro hears every thought your mind has ever had."

Alice seemed to be already aware of this fact, offering only a small nod in my direction and I gasped—_what an exceptional power! With one touch… he knows _everything _about you. Everything you've ever seen, felt and thought is before his eyes with only a simple grasp. _I shuddered at the realization that anyone in his company for any extended duration of time could harbor no secrets from him—there would be no privacy in his presence. Given his obvious position of authority, I had no doubt that no one in their right mind would dare to refuse his touch, but I balked at the notion of sharing _everything_ I was with anyone that way. Not even Edward.

Perhaps especially Edward.

I was, once again, very glad he couldn't read my thoughts today.

"But to be able to hear from a distance…" Aro sighed wistfully, his long, lean arms slightly outstretched in Edward's direction and grasping the air. "That would be so _convenient_."

I was a little taken aback by his admission of envy—in my mind Edward's gift seemed more like a nuisance to him than anything else. Being constantly bombarded with the inane thoughts of everyone surrounding him every single day had to be beyond infuriating. But to be able to selectively choose when to read minds, and have someone's entire life laid bare before your eyes when you made that decision seemed infinitely more attractive an ability to me. The only real downside was the requirement for physical contact—however I was sure that there could be nothing powerful enough on this earth to prevent him from touching anyone if he truly desired to. That was the level of authority his presence commanded.

Suddenly, Aro looked over our shoulders, and all the other heads quickly turned in the same direction, including Jane, Alec, and Demetri, who stood silently beside us, cloaks rustling in the cool draft from the windows above.

I was the slowest to turn.

Felix was back, and behind him floated two more black-robed men, their red eyes stern and condescending on the crowd which swiftly parted around them. Both bore an uncanny resemblance to Aro, one even had the same flowing black hair—although it fell in waves, instead of straight. The other had a startling shock of snow-white hair, the same shade as his face, which brushed against his shoulders. It was a color that would have made him look old, if not for the fact that his face was completely free of any wrinkles. I wondered if that was what vampires who were turned later in their life looked like—frozen, perfect, and yet stuck with colorless hair for eternity because of the age they'd attained as human beings. I would probably never know.

As the three converged in the center of the room, I realized the trio from Carlisle's painting was complete, unchanged by the last three hundred years since it was painted. As my eyes feasted on the two who had just entered, I found my focus drifting to the intricate embroidery on their cloaks and a small silver ring on Caius' left hand, rather than their faces. I realized with a frown that, although these two were both breathtaking, Aro was still the most beautiful creature in this room by a long shot.

"Marcus, Caius, look!" Aro crooned, gesturing in a sweeping arch towards where I stood, nervously beside Edward. "Isabella is alive after all, and Alice is here with her! Isn't that wonderful?" Neither of the other two looked as if _wonderful_ would be their first choice of words. The dark-haired man seemed utterly bored, like he'd seen too many millennia of Aro's enthusiasm—he almost looked as though he was fighting a losing battle to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The other's face was tight-lipped and pungently sour under his long snowy hair. Their lack of interest, surprisingly did absolutely nothing curb Aro's enjoyment. "Let us have the story," Aro almost sang in his feathery voice.

The white-haired ancient vampire drifted away, gliding toward one of the ornate wooden thrones and took a seat, his body unyielding in its stiff posture, and his eyes burning with malice and cool calculation. The other paused beside Aro, and he reached his hand out languidly, at first I thought to take Aro's hand. But instead he barely touched Aro's palm, pale fingers ghosting over the smooth skin, before he dropped his hand quickly to his side, allowing it to hang limply in its socket. Aro raised one black brow in response to this brief contact, and although his expression was puzzled, he somehow managed to make it the most alluring expression, as though he was going to answer his confusion with a passionate display. It made my throat dry, and a delightful shiver race up and down my spine.

Edward snorted very quietly—presumably at Aro's thoughts, and I looked at him, pleadingly, begging him with my squinting eyes to let me in on whatever had occurred between the two powerful immortals.

"Thank you, Marcus," Aro said finally. "That's quite interesting."

I realized a second late, that Marcus was letting Aro know his thoughts. Edward's description of Aro's talent resurfaced in my mind: _Aro needs physical contact to heart your thoughts, but he hears much more than I do. You know I can only hear what's passing through your head in the moment. Well, when he touches you, Aro hears every thought your mind has ever had._

Truly,the depth of Aro's power was unimaginable, not to mention unnerving. Even those who were not immune to Edward's gift could retain some privacy in their own minds by refusing to think anything overly personal in his presence. Alice often filled her immediate thoughts with ridiculous things whenever she was trying to keep Edward in the dark, and it usually worked. With Aro, it appeared you did not have that same luxury—once he had his icy hands on you… your whole soul was bared to his inquisitive eyes.

My attention was sharply brought back to the present, as Edward's fingers gouged deeper into my side, where I was sure I'd find dark purple finger prints from his possessive grip. Although Aro seemed tantalized by the possibilities the other robed vampire—Marcus—had presented him with, Marcus himself didn't look interested at all. He glided away from Aro to join the one who must be Caius, seated against the wall, with a bored expression, as though all of this was a monumental waste of his time. Two of the attending vampires followed silently behind him, the trio's cloaks and hair catching and twirling in the breeze, and flesh glittering dazzlingly as they passed through the rectangles of light on the floor.

I could see that two women in thin, short dresses had gone to stand beside Caius in the same manner. The idea of any vampire needing a guard was faintly ridiculous to me… but I supposed that their biggest enemies probably were found in other, formidable vampires, rather than the comparatively pathetic human beings that were typically the Cullens' only competition.

Aro was shaking his head in incredulity and delight, his jet-black locks swirling mesmerizingly at the motion. "Amazing," he said. "Absolutely amazing." Again, I was wracked with a perturbing urge to reach out and touch him—this time, to glide my fingers through the silky strands of his hair, to see if they really were as soft and inviting as they looked. Until now, I'd always preferred short-haired men—human men with long hair usually didn't care for it well enough and it became a disgusting mess, and I'd never met a male vampire with long hair before Aro—except Laurent, but his hung in wild dreadlocks, so he didn't really count. But after seeing how utterly gorgeous it was, I idly considered asking Edward to grow out his hair… to see if long locks would look as devastatingly handsome on him as they did on Aro and his companions.

Alice's expression was once again calm and completely understanding of the situation at hand, but upon noticing my utter lack of comprehension as to what was so thrilling to Aro, she nudged Edward gently in the shoulder and gestured towards my frustrated, knitted brows. Edward turned to me again and explained in a swift, low voice. "Marcus sees relationships. He's surprised by the intensity of ours."

Aro smiled conspiratorially, still gazing upwards at nothing in particular, and lost in deep, manic thoughts. "So convenient," he repeated to himself, and I wondered what could possibly be convenient about the strength of our relationships. My ponderings were cut short, however when he suddenly spoke to us. "It takes quite a bit to surprise Marcus, I can assure you."

I looked again at Marcus' dead face, as he sat lazily in his throne, silent and resigned to his fate of eternal boredom and I wholeheartedly believed that.

"It's just so difficult to understand, even now." Aro mused, staring at Edward's arm which was wrapped around me with crushing strength. It was hard for me to follow Aro's chaotic train of thought, and judging by the equally confused expressions on the vampires surrounding him I was elated to find that for once I was not alone in my pitiful struggle to keep up. And although Alice clearly knew more than I had expected, only Edward seemed to fully understand what was going on—which was hardly fair, as he could read the mind of this ridiculously unpredictable vampire.

"How can you stand so close to her like that?" Aro questioned, his eyes boring into Edward's, as though his golden irises, sparkling with undisguised anger, and animalistic protectiveness contained all the answers.

"It's not… without effort," Edward ground out, his tone acidic, and his brows furrowed deeper into a sharp "V" as though something completely unacceptable had flickered through Aro's mind. Aro's curious face seemed innocent enough, but Edward was visibly livid with the ancient vampire. Aro's questioning expression suddenly grew more severe, and he gave Edward a long, knowing look, as if to say, _you're clearly not telling those around you the whole story,_ before his maniacal grin returned to his face.

"But still—_la tua cantante_! What a waste!" Aro lamented, splaying a hand over his chest, a mock stricken expression overcoming his features. _Cantante_… I'd came across a word that was something like that in my research about vampires' bloodthirst, _what did it mean again?_ It was Italian, something about a song… or a singer, maybe?

Edward chuckled once, more of a bark than anything, which was cold, and without humor. "I look at it more as a price." He clarified darkly, and I suddenly remembered where I'd come across the expression Aro was using. The article had originally been written in Italian, but luckily the internet could translate for me and once passage had stuck out in particular: _While all human blood appeals greatly to vampires, some find that the blood of certain people appeal to them more strongly. Like the sirens of Ancient Greece, this blood "sings" to them and it is a song nigh impossible to resist, as only death of either party can stop the thirst once it has been awakened. The reasons for the added appeal are not known, but some have speculated that consuming the blood of a "singer" increases a vampire's strength—whether this is a temporary increase or a permanent one is also up for debate. Regardless of the source or outcome, there are no known examples of a vampire being able to stop feeding once they have tasted their singer's blood. If for some reason their feeding was interrupted, nothing can stop them from trying again, unless the singer is removed long enough to become a vampire themselves. _

That was the article that cemented my fear of Edward. Knowing that his resistance of my blood was widely considered impossible, knowing that it likely grated against him constantly even when he wasn't in my presence, and knowing that he possibly had everything to gain from answering the call, made every moment in his presence a vicious war of life and death. Evidently, from his statements, Aro was confused, surprised and faintly horrified that Edward would resist something so obviously desirable in his eyes. I swallowed thickly—the Volturi forcing Edward to eat me had not been among the many dark scenarios I'd envisioned on the way here.

Aro made no attempt to mask his deep skepticism of Edward's explanation, that knowing look once again washing over his aristocratic features, and a sudden ominous feeling settled in my stomach. "A very high price." He intoned, narrowing his ruby-red eyes, first at Edward, and then at me—which only made my heart thump faster, the blood ringing in my ears at the breakneck pace of its palpitations.

"Opportunity cost." Edward shrugged, as though it was nothing.

Aro raised one stark eyebrow again, serious doubt still etched into his face, and cast a quick glance at me that was almost pitying before his expression suddenly lightened and he laughed. The sound was rich, and resonant, resembling the sound of a warm golden church bell—although it was marred slightly by its derisive tone, one torn between a laugh of surprise and a laugh of complete disbelief. He seemed to know something about Edward's methods of resistance that I didn't—and that thought caused me to shuffle slightly in Edward's grip.

"If I had not smelled her through your memories, I would not have believe that the call of anyone's blood could be so strong. I have never felt anything like it myself." His tone was awestruck, and reverential, as though he was describing a deeply sacred experience. "Most of us would trade much for such a gift, and yet you…" he trailed off in undisguised disgust.

"Waste it," Edward finished, his voice sarcastic and bitter. Aro's eyebrow quirked again at Edward's admission—and he briefly shook his head, as though he believed Edwards statement to be somehow incorrect or incomplete, before his eyes fell on me again, raking over my form in a manner I would have called "checking me out" if he were human.

"Just remembering how she appeals to you…" Aro chuckled sensually, "It makes me thirsty." His eyes darkened, whether from an intense hunger for my blood, or from arousal I couldn't tell. Perhaps it was both—I understood from my research that for vampires drinking blood and sexual activities weren't always strictly divided from each other, and that blood drinking, especially of one's singer was almost universally considered to be the greater pleasure.

A hot blush blossomed across my cheeks as a vivid image of myself and Aro, naked on the cold stone floor, with limbs entwined, and his head buried in my neck, teeth sinking through my soft flesh arrested my thoughts. I stiffened in horror at the animated fantasy, and immediately sought to banish it from my mind. I really did _not_ need to be thinking about that sort of thing right now—Edward and I could be mortal danger, and I barely knew Aro at all. I was supposed to be in love with Edward—the forever and ever kind of love—not fantasizing about someone I'd only just met.

And thoughts of Aro biting me should be creepy, not sexy!

"Do not be disturbed," Aro reassured us, directing his gaze to Edward's form, which had tensed, lowering into a slight squatted stance, as though preparing to spring. "I mean her no harm. But I am _so_ curious, about one thing in particular."

_Aro had obviously touched Edward and read all of his thoughts—what could he possibly want to know now? Did he want to read my thoughts too? Or are there things that even all of a person's thoughts don't explain? _I wondered.

Edward responded flatly, "No."

"No?" Aro asked, suspicion evident in his voice, a single brow raised and his head inclined in curiosity. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be cut off before he could even ask the question, although given that Edward didn't seem to be too pleased with Aro's current train of thought, I wasn't particularly surprised. I was intrigued, however—what could Edward possibly be hiding from Aro, the one who supposedly had read every single one of his thoughts? And why was Edward so adamant that Aro remain in the dark? Wouldn't it be in our best interest to cooperate with the leaders of the Volturi, even if it meant parting with a few personal secrets?

Aro parted his pale lips to speak again, but Edward silenced him with another terse "no." Frustration contorting his beautiful face, Aro moved to speak once more, only for Edward's voice to rise in volume and grow more forceful. "No, I will not—stop thinking about it! Everything is just fine the way it is, and I am _not_ going to let you mess things up!" he shouted, causing the older vampire to slide backwards a few inches in surprise.

"Are you… shouting at me, Edward?" Aro's tone betrayed his true astonishment and hurt, "Tsk, tsk. I am certain I recall Carlisle teaching you better manners," he finished reproachingly, wagging his index finger back and forth in a disapproving gesture more appropriate for scolding a small child than a hundred-year-old vampire.

Edward clenched his teeth, and lowered his voice to a shrill whisper. "I already know what you want to ask, and I'm _not _going to answer," he spat venomously, "You're just going to have to live with being in the dark, metaphorically, of course."

Alice and I exchanged worrying glances—we both knew that this wasn't going to end well. I wondered if she'd had any visions about the possible outcome of this meeting—especially now that Edward was royally screwing it up with his terrible attitude—but she didn't say anything. I nervously chewed on my lip, helplessly watching the intense verbal confrontation before me unfold.

Both of Aro's crimson eyes widened in shock, "You do not intend to tell her, then." He seemed deeply upset by this idea, his normally perfectly smooth forehead crumpling in concern, and wringing his hands ponderously. "Our lovely Isabella, is never to know?"

My head shot up at that. "What?"


	4. Chapter 3: Confrontation

**AN: Once again, thank you for all the lovely reviews, I really appreciate the feedback, even if it's really short. One thing I saw a lot of reviewers worried about is that I won't update. I've been updating rather regularly, and plan to do my best, but I am a college student, so keep that in mind around finals week ;). Also, I am trying to stay a few chapters ahead in my writing before I post them here, just to make sure I don't have any continuity problems, so I already have a few more chapters completed than what is posted here, I just want to make sure they're as professional-looking as possible before they hit the screen. **

** ...And now we get ready for some action... *rubs hands together plotting a dastardly plan*. Once again, I don't own anything you recognize, and if I did-boy oh boy would Twilight be a different story... ;) Also, we'll be introducing an OC in this chapter, and I hope you like her. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Confrontation<strong>

Edward was glaring at Aro with a feral intensity, his body coiled and poised to fight, but his eyes were betraying something that looked akin to fear—not a fear of physical danger, but a psychological fear; a fear that Aro would reveal something I wasn't supposed to know. My breathing had gone shallow and ragged as their eyes bored into each other's from all be ambient tension in the room, and my mind was surging wildly, trying to wrap my head around the fact that there was something big—huge, judging by Aro's unsubtly sour expression—that Edward was hiding from me. Something that maybe, he'd been hiding from me for a long time.

I was so focused trying to piece out what sort of secret Edward might be harboring that I practically jumped out of my skin when Aro's cheery voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence. "Edward, why don't you enlighten, our dear Bella—it simply wouldn't do to have such 'strong bonds' severed by petty secrets, wouldn't you agree?" The words "strong bonds" had rolled with the same buttery smoothness off of his tongue as the rest but had a distinctly sarcastic flavor to them which set me on edge—almost as much as the wide, disturbing grin which suddenly burst across his face, his white teeth sparkling, and ferocious-looking.

Edward's cold eyes narrowed further, and I yelped in fright as I was thrust violently behind him—an action which was meant to place me protectively out of the way, but instead sent me crashing to the unforgiving stone floor in a heap of bruises, and a jarring, throbbing pain in my left arm. It all happened so fast, but I swore I'd heard a loud _crack_ when my arm collided with the pavement. I bit my tongue so hard in my attempt to keep myself from crying out that I drew blood, which dribbled ungracefully down my chin, and suddenly all eyes in the room were on me—brimming with unbridled hunger.

Before Edward or anyone else could react, Aro rushed behind him in a flash and gracefully dropped into a kneeling position at my side, his eyes swimming with worry and arms outstretched to his sides with palms facing outward, as if to halt anyone else's approach. I watched, through my pain-induced haze, a flicker of comprehension pass over the faces of everyone in the room, and at once all except Edward and Alice took a collective step back from where I lay, whimpering and fighting back the tears threatening to spill over my cheeks.

Edward rapidly turned to face Aro and growled loudly, ready to pounce, but before he could make his move, Alice lithely jumped on him from behind and wrestled him with her tiny, but powerful gloved hands into a tight headlock. Her black eyes hungrily passed over the blood leaking from my lip for a fraction of a second, before she snapped them shut and immediately stopped breathing. As she held her painted lips firmly sealed, Edward struggled fiercely to be released, but Alice refused to relent, fastening her little arms even tighter around his pale neck and shrieking out, "No, Edward! You'll kill her!"

Edward's expression held no indication that he'd heard Alice, but suddenly, after a fleeting glance at Aro, something in the ancient vampire's mind caused him to cease thrashing in her arms and suddenly he went painfully still. My eyes darted between him and the powerful vampire kneeling beside me, whose gaze travelled quickly over my prone figure, seemingly trying to assess the damage that had been done. My skin turned feverish under his close scrutiny, and I tried not to wince at the pulsing agony in my left arm—his eyes on me were calculating, but absolutely beautiful and I hated the idea of looking away. They lacked the cruel amusement I'd been expecting, and instead, they were filled with warm concern, and although I could tell that he was well aware of the fact that I was bleeding, and there was a part of him which was enticed by my blood, I somehow knew that my blood wasn't what he was after at the moment, which put me incredibly at ease.

Aro sighed like a parent utterly exasperated by childish antics, and calmly rested a hand on the sleeve of my left arm, which was bent at an awkward angle at my side, the heat of the swelling appendage rapidly decreasing as the temperature of his icy hand permeated the fabric. I tensed as I worried about my mind being exposed to his gift when there was clearly nothing I could do to protest—until I realized that he probably couldn't see anything with the barrier my sleeve provided against my bare skin. After a brief pause, He drew his hand away quickly and turned his head sharply towards the crowd of vampires converged anxiously near the ornate wooden thrones.

Marcus still seemed utterly bored, despite the recent commotion, and his eyes were thickly clouded with disinterest as his thin chin rested in his palm, gazing off in the distance at nothing in particular, instead of watching the dramatic scene in the center of the room. Cauis, on the other hand, watched Aro and me intently with a look of savage glee, his pale, spidery hands clasped tightly under his chin, and robe-shrouded feet flat on the stone floor beneath him ready to leap into the middle of the action if anything happened. It was clear from his fearsome expression that he was looking forward to a bloodbath—I desperately hoped it didn't come to that.

As I struggled to swallow upon seeing Caius' excitement for violence, Aro's penetrating red eyes turned away from his brothers and landed on a woman of average height, perhaps an inch or two taller than me, among the crowd with deep brunette hair that fell perfectly straight past her knees. She wore a long black dress, which was high-necked, long-sleeved, and flared out in sharp, crisp pleats at the bottom where it ghosted just a hair's breadth above the chalky floor. The sumptuous gown covered practically everything, but it was _very _tight, flush against her dramatic curves, and I once again was reminded that I was hideous in comparison. The Volturi crest gleamed brilliantly where it rested between large round breasts, and her face broke into a stunning smile as she saw that Aro was looking at her.

"Vera," he addressed her calmly. "It seems that our guest _forgot _that his beloved was so fragile and behaved carelessly." He snarled the word "forgot" with obvious disbelief and distaste and Edward responded with a low growl of his own. "Although I normally prefer for people to endure the negative consequences of their own actions," he stole a deprecating look at Edward before continuing "our dear Bella has a broken arm, which needs your attention immediately."

Vera's smile widened into a Cheshire-cat-like grin, and she sprung across the room to my side immediately—the motion a cross between floating and skipping—her impossibly long hair tossing in gorgeous chocolate waves. Alice's steely gaze followed her impassively as she neared us and her porcelain doll-like features betrayed absolutely nothing—neither fear nor relief—as the woman unceremoniously knelt beside me, the pleats of her luxurious dress fanning out around her in a pool of glossy satin, and she drew back the scratchy sleeve covering my left arm. As Vera reached out with a delicate hand to grasp at the bare skin of the arm she had just exposed, at first I was inclined to panic, since I suspected that she also possessed a tactile power and was going to use it on me. But just before our flesh collided, Aro gave Vera a slight smile and a small nod, and in that moment I irrationally, but completely trusted that whatever this woman was going to do would be for my benefit—something in my gut assured me that even though I had every reason not to, that I could rely on Aro to protect me.

So for a brief moment, despite the throbbing pain, I was content… until Vera's fingers wrapped around my arm, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

At the very same moment her hand made contact with my skin, an excruciating shock of agony surged through my broken arm, and I writhed in horror as I felt the sickening sensation of my twisted muscles rippling back into place and forcing the fragments of my shattered bone back along with them. While the bone fragments uncomfortably wriggled back into position, I continued to scream as I felt all the blood vessels which had been damaged from the impact then begin to vibrate unpleasantly and reconnect their severed ends, gradually erasing the black and blue splotches which littered my swollen skin. There was a sickening _pop_ as the bone finished growing back together, and then the pain was gone as suddenly as it came.

Once I stopped howling, Vera gradually retracted her wintry hand, before lighting swiftly onto her feet and flitting back into the crowd of vampires huddled together at a safe distance from me. I blinked once slowly, dazed by the recent events, and slowly started to sit up, surprised to find that no part of my body cried out in protest as I did so. Hesitantly, I moved my tongue within the dry walls of my mouth, and was astonished to discover that the bleeding had entirely stopped. She'd healed me, completely.

"No! What are you doing?!" Edward bellowed, his voice beyond irate, and his arms struggling wildly against Alice's firm grip. His teeth were bared like a ferocious wild cat, and visibly dripping with venom, and I stiffened at the terrifying sight.

Aro slowly rose to his feet and drifted smoothly over the floor until his face was only inches from Edward's, and I watched with morbid fascination as he seized Edward's chin with lethal force in one hand, his unearthly eyes burning with malice. He whispered icily, "I am only correcting the damage that _you_ have caused, Edward."

His words sent a violent shiver down my spine, but paradoxically warmth blossomed in my heart at the idea that Aro was behaving protectively over me. Of course the idea that Aro was superseding him as my protector did not sit well with Edward, who snapped forward, teeth gnashing riotously, and thick venom splashing over his chin and onto the floor. The blood drained from my face and horror washed over me as I watched the one I claimed to love trying his hardest to chew Aro's beautiful face off, while imprisoned in Alice's unyielding grasp.

Aro swiftly relinquished his hold on Edward's face and fluttered backwards, out of Edward's reach, his shoulders shaking—at first I thought in fear, until his head tossed back, ebony locks sailing along with the sudden movement, and a deranged high-pitched cackle erupted from his lips.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha! _This_ is how you react when you so carelessly harm your _beloved_ and _I_ am the one responsible for restoring her health? Certainly you should know from experience that your _precious_ Bella has been restored, not damaged by Vera's powers," Aro chided, clearly implying that this was not the copper-haired vampire's first encounter with the immortal woman at my side—a fact which jarred me and filled my fear-harrowed heart with uneasy suspicion. "And yet, you would bite the hand that assists you… rather literally…" he trailed off incredulously, peering thoughtfully at his nearly bitten off fingers. "The spell must have disturbed your mind further than I thought," he concluded, a slight astonishment coloring his features—which paled in comparison with the fierce shock that overtook mine.

_Spell? What spell? Does he mean, like a magic spell kind of spell? Do things like that even exist? _I supposed with the existence of vampires and werewolves I really shouldn't have been all that surprised that there could be something out there which could cast magic spells, but I had honestly never considered it before—vampires and werewolves I knew were real because I'd had firsthand experience with them. Magic, I had still assumed was a thing of fairytales, along with dragons and unicorns and little green men. The whole concept of casting spells seemed extremely ridiculous, not to mention scientifically impossible.

"…What are you talking about?" My throat was dry, and my voice raspy and weak, but I had to know—and if seemed like Aro wanted me to be aware as well. Edward's expression radically darkened and… was it _guilt_ that flickered in his eyes? Aro smiled softly, and gestured an open palm towards Edward, an invitation to speak.

"Yes, Edward, do enlighten us," he beckoned melodically, "I'm sure our dear Bella is simply _dying_ to know."

My stomach lurched at the intensity of the animosity between the two—I sensed his use of the word "dying" was deliberate, to egg Edward on, because if there was one thing that could make Edward lose his mind completely, apparently it was the thought of me meeting my demise. A world without me in it, was a world in which Edward didn't want to exist—he'd made that much painfully clear by his arrival here in Volterra.

Edward's hands fisted tightly, the veins over his knuckles protruding substantially at the effort. "She can't know, she wouldn't understand," His voice was frantic now, "She might jump to the wrong conclusions about us, and about you." He hazarded a brief sorrowful glance in my direction before he continued. "We can't trust her with information like that. She's young, naïve, and she's human. I don't want her to make any mistakes that could permanently mess up her life."

There was a reverberating silence at his words, and I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. While there was a good possibility that he thought he was saying those hurtful things to protect me, it was painfully obvious that, to some degree, that was how he actually perceived me: _untrustworthy, young, naïve, _and… _human_, as though that in of itself was an unforgivable crime. Knowing that his thirst for my blood was probably the largest motivating factor for him to linger in my presence—rather than undying love, was one thing. Refusing to transform me into a vampire time and time again when it was (and it still was) my deepest desire was another. Even realizing that he was harboring an important secret from me was something I could probably recover from and forgive him for, if there seemed to be adequate reason for keeping it secret in the first place. But openly insulting and embarrassing me in front of those who could be our enemies, _right after_ seriously injuring me, nearly biting the hand that healed me, and then _refusing to apologize_… that was the final straw.

I could finally admit it.

I was no longer in love with Edward Cullen.

I hadn't been really, for a while—I had simply been too afraid of the implications and the possibility of spiraling deeper into despair without him to admit it to myself. But now, with how recklessly and ridiculously he was behaving, when I had come halfway across the world, completely voluntarily to rescue him from his own wacky survivor's guilt, it was simply too obvious to ignore. And finally embracing the truth was more liberating than I ever thought it would be. It seemed as though a huge burden had been lifted from my tired shoulders, and all the horrible guilt that accompanied my less than sisterly thoughts of Jacob over the past few months, and of Aro just recently vanished entirely.

Of course, that didn't stop the heartbreak that came from realizing that—by no fault of our own—Edward and I weren't meant to be. Losing love still hurt, I realized, even when it was lost because the person you thought you loved turned out be someone else entirely. I had foolishly hoped, as my feelings started to wane with each new discovery, that if my love for him was well and truly dead, that would make recovering from the severe loss and moving on to find someone else a lot easier. But instead, I discovered that losing love in this way hurt even worse, because to me it felt uncannily like betrayal.

Edward had informed me of a lot of things about his nature that I had ignored or downplayed at first, but those weren't what primarily disturbed me, and destroyed my amorous feelings for him. It was the lies, especially in regards to how he truly felt about me that were the critical hit to our fleeting, frivolous high-school romance. Mere days before he left, I began to notice that, although he insisted over and over again in my presence that he thought I was beautiful, smart, and unique, it was obvious from his domineering and stalker-like behavior that I was little more than a toy—albeit a fragrant, danger-magnet of a toy whose only saving grace was that I conveniently didn't annoy him with my frivolous thoughts. He had even grumbled under his breath a little too loudly when I stood in the hallway outside his room, that he only kept me around because it was entertaining.

It was for that reason that I had wholeheartedly believed his cold declaration in the meadow when he said he no longer loved me, just before he vanished from my life. But now I was thoroughly perplexed—if he didn't love me, why on earth had the news of my supposed death spurred him to commit suicide? Was it possible that—even in his obstinate condescension towards me—that he thought he loved me that deeply? Or was my death a convenient excuse to finally achieve something unattainable otherwise?

All I could say for certain was, no matter what love the teenage vampire felt or didn't feel for me, I sure as hell didn't love him. I still wanted the best for him, and I most certainly didn't want him to die, but I knew that even if all past grievances were forgiven, the most emotion I would be able to muster would be a sisterly affection towards him.

My childish dream of a forever love with Edward was shattered beyond repair.

Tears welled up in my eyes and though I tried, nothing short of an industrial water dam could keep them from spilling rapidly over my cheeks. A terrible sob escaped my lips—a strangled cry halfway between a groan and a scream—and I fell to my knees, shaking and weeping inconsolably. It probably was a horrifyingly pathetic display, but no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't stop.

"And now you've made her cry," Aro observed sadly, turning his neck slowly away from Edward to look sympathetically in my direction. "_Excellent _work, Edward." He finished sarcastically, earning another growl from Edward, and a horrified expression from Alice.

"Edward," Alice spoke this time, her voice shakier and more nervous than I'd ever heard it, "I know what Carlisle and I said about telling her before… but now is the time. It's a risk we have to take. Whatever she decides to do with that knowledge now is out of our hands, Edward."

Edward fastened his hands around Alice's thin arms and tried unsuccessfully for the millionth time to pry them away from his head, but when he finally relented and moved to argue—his blueish lips forming an angry "O", Alice interrupted him before he could speak.

"I'm sick of you treating her like she's five years old!" Alice bellowed angrily, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end, and the closest vampires to glide back a step. Edward, whose hypersensitive ears were directly beside Alice's mouth cringed as the sound reverberated painfully in his eardrums. I would have felt sorry for him if I wasn't too busy crying my brains out, but maybe not even then—he definitely deserved it.

Alice continued in her angry rant, her voice slightly softer now, but still bursting with fury, "She's an adult now and mature enough to know what she wants. Why not give her all the information to make an informed decision?"

The horrible sobs wracking my body came to an abrupt halt, and my eyes stopped gushing like faucets—the water output decreasing to a small trickle here and there. Hesitantly, I lifted my head and a teary smile broke out across my face. Alice believed in me and was sticking up for me—I still did not know what on earth they were arguing about so passionately, but it was heartening to know that despite the fact that she was actually significantly older than me, Alice felt that I was mature enough to understand and come to the right conclusion. I was determined not to let her down.

Aro was silent throughout this altercation, but the unforgiving glares and bestial snarls Edward was sending in his direction obviously indicated that his mind was very active in ways Edward highly disagreed with. For a brief moment I wished that I also had Edward's telepathy—if only to know what had Aro's face twisted into an enormous grin, and Edward's into a look of savage ferocity.

Alice sharply twisted Edward's face in her gloved arms—and for a horrifying second I thought she was going to twist his head off—until I didn't hear the telltale _crack_ of inhumanly hard skin, and she stopped only a fraction past the point where human heads stopped turning naturally. I realized this violent-looking action was to bring him into eye contact with her, so that he could see the emotion on her face as she spoke. "Please tell her," Alice pleaded with him, her tone soft and imploring,"…about the spell, about Carlisle, about everything. She deserves to know." Edward's golden eyes widened with an unreadable emotion at the desperate sincerity in Alice's hunger-blackened gaze, before Alice's thin arms suddenly loosened from his neck, and she skipped backwards from him, the floral scarf around her neck billowing in the slight breeze, and the clack of her high heeled boots echoing eerily against the stone walls.

Edward stood with his head bowed slightly—though no longer twisted at an unnatural angle—and his thumbs twiddling rapidly in his interlocked hands, as though lost in deep thought about his next course of action. Caius leaned forward slightly in his seat, obviously eager for Edward to lash out violently, now that he'd been released, but Marcus, on the other hand, only barely glanced in our direction, before rolling his eyes in mild annoyance and staring back off into space. The rest of the vampires in the room all had their red eyes firmly fixed on him—some in worry, others in excitement, and yet others with neutral interest.

I for one, expected a fight, and so I quickly rose to my feet—for although I knew in my human state I didn't stand a chance against any vampire, I figured it was better to be prepared to flee if I was ever given the opportunity to do so. But before any sudden violence could occur, an irate, piercing voice severed the musty air which sent icy shivers down my spine and caused a few of the surrounding vampires to straighten slightly in mild terror. "The girl already knows too much, Aro," Caius' frosty voice interjected, and without warning the ancient vampire slowly rose from his seat, the silver ring on his left hand glinting in the sunlight as his hand fisted tightly in frustration. "Why should we waste our precious time by telling her anymore?" he spat acidly and shot a dagger-like glare in Aro's direction, which caused me to realize that his eyes had been a dark burgundy color since the beginning of our conversation, and I stiffened as I recognized the wild hungry look in them all too well.

As Caius strode imperiously toward Aro, his thick black cape rustling menacingly behind him and his face all jagged, wrathful edges, he growled, "You said earlier it was _obvious_ from the boy's mind he never intended for her to be one of us." He came to an abrupt halt several feet away from Aro, who stood calmly in the awkward distance between Edward and I, and Caius' eyes hungrily scraped over my figure—his gaze the agonizing visual equivalent of fingernails scratching against chalkboard.

I shuddered violently—and then froze in absolute horror when Caius' jaw twisted into a sadistic smile at my fearful reaction. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to _run_, but I knew that would only serve to hasten my demise, as I was certain the ferocious vampire in front of me would take my pathetic attempt to flee as bait to begin the hunt.

"And earlier he certainly was not entirely opposed to the idea of her being _dead_…" Caius added, almost wistfully in reference to Edward's previous belief in my demise which apparently had spurned him to commit suicide, the white-haired vampire's eyes never leaving the flesh of exposed neck, and his tongue darting out of his grinning mouth to lick his lips in feral anticipation. Alice looked horrified at the events unfolding around her, and hunkered down in her high-heeled boots, prepared to pounce if Caius made any sudden movements towards me. Edward's face was apathetic—terrifyingly, it seemed he really could care less if I lived or died, which only increased my suspicion that there was an ulterior motive for his presence here.

Aro merely frowned.

"Hush, Caius," Aro commanded quietly, quickly silencing his brother's voracious ravings, and holding up a forbidding hand to suggest that moving any closer to me was not an action he approved of. "Although Edward may have squandered his chances with this one, Isabella is such a… _miraculous_ creature." His voice was filled with a curiosity that was unexpectedly reverential, and was chocolaty smooth as he gracefully swept a hand in my general direction. The way he spoke of me, as though I was some sort of mysterious heavenly being caused a deep pink blush to stain my cheeks, and my stomach to swarm with butterflies. My heart soared—I was something unique in Aro's eyes after all.

"I want to see her reaction to the truth, to see if she is… ready…." He explained further, inclining his head in my direction, but his eyes never leaving Caius', even as he began to pace, gliding in a slow, tight circle around his ravenous brother. But before I could even wonder what Aro could possibly want me to be prepared for, an unnervingly ecstatic grin pulled at his patrician features, and he added "With her abilities fully-realized, she may prove a valuable addition to our ranks."

Caius snorted and rolled his eyes, as though this was a "typical Aro behavior" which he found particularly irritating, and Edward snarled—disturbingly much more upset by the prospect of me joining the Volturi than that of my death.

I, on the other hand, was hopelessly confused.

"…What abilities?" I asked, bewildered by the insinuation that I—who wasn't even a vampire—had some sort of special power that I wasn't yet aware of. _How could I have a super power if I didn't know what it was? _I thought frantically, as I nervously wrung my clammy hands together, and anxiously shuffled my weight between my feet.

Seeing my apparent agitation, Aro paused in his predatory encirclement of Caius, and his stern warning expression immediately melted into a soft smile. "Shhh… One thing at a time, my dear Isabella, one thing at a time. I promise we will tell you everything eventually," he placated, his voice low, and laced with impeccable tenderness, each syllable sweetly seductive as they poured like honey over his delicate lips. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" he suggested charmingly.

I felt myself nodding, and was somewhat stunned to discover that I completely trusted Aro's promise. He _would_ tell me everything—for what purpose, I knew not, but I was absolutely certain that I would not be left in the dark forever—which knowledge was comforting enough to allow me to relax and wait patiently for it all to pan out. Although there was nothing in my memory to logically indicate that I should trust him, his declaration rang with such profound sincerity, that I couldn't bring myself to doubt it.

Aro cast a fleeting cautionary glance toward Caius, warning him to stand down or else risk being brutally torn apart, before floating closer to where Edward stood, until he was mere inches from his face. There was a curt second of silence, and Caius employed the opportunity to turn in a huff, his black cloak swirling angrily around him, and stomped furiously back to his throne. Alice watched with worry in her obsidian eyes as he threw himself down in his seat, and crossed his arms impetuously over his broad chest, afraid that he might lash out again. However, as soon as his luxurious robes settled around him, he twisted his head sharply to the side and angled his aquiline nose towards the ceiling, as though everyone in the castle turret at this moment was no longer worthy of his regard.

"Edward?" Aro prompted politely, though from the devilish smirk which warped his features, I suspected that mentally he was somehow coercing him into action with his thoughts. Edward's head suddenly snapped up in response to his name, and he was giving me the coldest stare—one which made my heart pound at a vicious pace, and drops of sweat bead on my forehead. He began walking forward, each step agonizingly slow and deliberate, his hands clenching tautly at his sides and a slight grimace ruining his beautiful face. _This was it_, I thought resignedly, _Edward is finally going to eat me_.

Instead of pouncing, however, he came to an abrupt halt a few feet away from me and he spoke, his voice icy, and full of unconcealed anger at his current situation.

"Fine, I'll tell you."


	5. Chapter 4: Secrets Revealed

**AN: And here it is, as I promised... we start to learn the Cullens' dirty little secrets... *grins evilly* ...****Once again, I don't own anything you recognize. But anything you don't, from OCs to non-canon vampire powers, are all mine. **

**Also, just a heads up: explaining everything is going to take quite a few chapters, as there are a lot of things that Edward and other Cullens didn't want Bella to know. I promise to explain everything eventually, but there's a lot of material to go through and I also need to keep the action moving. But it wouldn't be as fun if you knew everything right away, right? ;)**

**Also, for those who expressed excitement for my next chapter in their reviews, I appreciate your enthusiasm, however I also would like you to realize that I, unlike many of the characters in this story, am only human, and not only have to sleep, but have a life outside of writing this fanfiction. I know that the vast majority of you already know this, so this is not meant as a scolding, and I really do appreciate that people are anxious for the next chapter, because as a suspense writer that means I'm doing something right. All I am saying is that you can't expect me to drop everything to post another chapter. That said...**

**...I try to update at least twice a week-and with chapters typically being around 5,500 - to 6,000 words, which means that I have around 11,000 words per week, which I have to write, edit and polish. And that's on top of everything else I am usually doing. Luckily, I'm still two chapters ahead, which is why you are getting this update tonight when I'm beyond tired from travelling all day by bus and plane, and I plan to try and keep up my update schedule while I go to college as much as possible. But if I can only manage an update once a week, please keep in mind that my "slacking" is not evidence that I am abandoning this fanfiction. I love writing this story and work on it nearly every spare moment I can. It is a priority in my life, at least right now, though my education will always come first. Please, all I ask is that you be understanding-and so far I haven't had any significant issues, this is more of a heads up. You're welcome to still comment and say you can't wait for the next chapter, just be aware that it won't come the minute after you comment. :) **

**I apologize if this seemed like a rant, or that I was angry-I am not. I simply want there to be as little confusion as possible in the future. **

**...And... after a lengthy commercial break... we are no returning to our scheduled program... ;) **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Secrets Revealed<strong>

"Where should I begin, Alice?" Edward asked in resignation, his voice betraying his extreme reluctance to reveal any more than was absolutely necessary, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Alice's perfect painted lips bent into a slight frown at his tone and she let out an exasperated sigh before she said, "At the beginning, with Carlisle—I think it will make the most sense that way."

"But Alice…" he protested vehemently, whirling to face her with an angry glare before she viciously cut him off.

"No buts, Edward!" Alice shouted venomously, her voice filled with more wrath than I had ever heard coming from the usually extremely calm and polite little vampire. I staggered backwards unsteadily over the thankfully flat stone, at the sharpness of her interjection, but once again was heartened to know that Alice was sticking up for me. Even though our fashion senses clashed violently at times, and she had a ghastly habit for throwing elaborate parties—the bane of my existence—she was someone I could call a true sister.

"She deserves to know," Alice continued in a softer volume, though her tone was no less deadly or serious than her previous outburst. "Carlisle himself said he felt guilty for not telling her," she offered as her final argument.

Edward's gloomy face contorted into one of disbelieving rage, his thick russet eyebrows torn between disappearing into his messy hairline, and arching deeply just above his nose. "That doesn't mean he wants us to tell his whole life story!" he cried in fervent rebuttal.

Alice's shiny black eyes rolled at his behavior. "Just do it."

Edward heaved a deep melodramatic sigh, and I stifled a giggle. Today it seemed he really was being a drama queen, which only made the suspense in waiting for his response even harder to bear. If whatever he was keeping from me had him this worked up, it had to be extremely important. Although I had already gathered as much from his earlier statements, everything he did to express his profound unwillingness to unveil the truth only filled me with more anxiousness to discover what it was.

"Fine," he relented tersely, glaring daggers at his surrogate sister before slowly turning back to face me. I swallowed nervously as his liquid gold eyes rested on me, directed a little above my heart, though not quite on my face, and clenched my hands into little fists in an attempt to remain calm.

"Bella," his voice had calmed considerably, as though my name was a balm of healing as it rolled smoothly over his tongue, but something about it seemed eerily off, false. "Do you know the story of how Carlisle became a vampire? How he discovered our unusual diet?" he enquired neutrally, neither exceptional gentleness nor overt ferocity coloring his tone. I blinked a few times at the unexpected question, and considered it for a moment, my forehead wrinkled slightly in concentration. Certainly I had been told the story, but I was at a complete loss as to why that was relevant.

Hesitantly I responded, "…I remember that his father was a priest in the 1600s who hunted vampires, and that Carlisle was training in his footsteps." I decided to keep my tone neutral as well, and stick to the facts, rather than any emotional interpretations of the events. "Carlisle stumbled on a coven living in the sewers and was attacked. They left him alive, but just barely, and when he came to, he tried to commit suicide rather than drink human blood." Edward frowned at my vivid recollection of the story, and Alice nodded enthusiastically, encouraging me to continue.

I remembered Carlisle's grave expression as he told the story—especially as he related his early fears in regards to what would become of his soul now that he was transformed. I was going to skip over that part, because it seemed overwhelmingly inappropriate to discuss something as deeply personal as Carlisle's spiritual turmoil in front of such a great audience—until I realized it was integral to the story. It couldn't be left out because it was Carlisle's extreme religious determination to retain a clean conscience that had compelled him to seek out alternatives to human blood in the first place. So I took a deep breath and kept going.

"Because of what he was taught during his human life, he thought being a vampire made him soulless… damned…" Aro's penetrating eyes softened at the statement, as though this knowledge stirred sympathetic feelings in him from whatever he had read Carlisle's mind during his brief tenure in Volterra, when Carlisle and the three Volturi leaders had that portrait commissioned of them. I had no time to dwell on this, however, as I refocused on finishing relating Carlisle's tale.

"Instead of dying, though, he ended up… um… eating a couple deer in his extreme hunger, and he's been an animal-drinker ever since. Is that right, Edward?" I felt fairly confident that I had remembered all the important details, but I wanted to make sure he didn't think I had omitted anything necessary.

Edward's face was still acidly sour, but he offered a slow affirmative nod. "That's… essentially correct, yes," he confirmed placidly, with a slight inclination of his head towards Alice, who also nodded—though with a bright smile gracing her pixie-like features, instead of Edward's grudging scowl.

"So… what's that got to do with anything?" I asked, impatiently tapping my sneakered foot against the cool beige stone, disappointed that they didn't clack imperiously like Alice's heels did. I was tired of beating around the bush—I wanted to cut to the chase.

"There is one thing he didn't tell you about his transformation…" he trailed off ominously, his pallid lips tight with displeasure, and his somber eyes guiltily averted from mine. "Carlisle's not just a normal vampire."

"W-what do you mean?" I sputtered pathetically in response. _Not a normal vampire?_ I thought frantically. _Did that make Carlisle a different species of vampires from the Volturi, and Victoria? Or did Edward mean something else… like he'd been, altered somehow from the norm, whether naturally from his own complete abstinence from human blood or by an external force?_

"He's like Alice and I," Edward explained calmly, the high-strung tension slowly unwinding from his muscles, and assuming a more casual stance. "He has a… _special talent_," he clarified, pointedly emphasizing the last words so that there was no mistake as to his meaning.

I wanted to burry my face in my hands from embarrassment. That made a whole lot more sense than any of my theories, not to mention it should have been obvious. Although not all vampires had special abilities, those that did seemed to have a tendency to be more resilient and long-lived than those that did not. And while Carlisle was nowhere as old as some of the Volturi, he had seen his fair share of centuries, and seemed to have a reputation of a certain formidability about him that I never fully understood. The Denali's seemed to treat him with a great deal of deference and respect, even though some of them had lived over twice as long—which would only make sense if he held something else over them.

Also, having seen Aro's disturbing fascination with both Alice and Edward's powers myself, and having heard somewhat of the Volturi's invasive recruiting methods for collecting such able vampires, I couldn't believe that they had left the Cullens alone all these years out of sheer ignorance or an extremely old friendship that didn't end on the best of terms. Obviously, whatever power Carlisle possessed, the Volturi wanted nothing to do with it.

Whatever power Carlisle had, the most powerful coven of vampires in the world were unwilling to confront—which said a lot.

"…And you guys decided not to tell me because, what… it was _too cool_ for me to handle?" I asked incredulously, earning a gentle shake of Alice's scarf-wrapped head, and a wide, mirthful smirk from Aro. "Too creepy?" I offered instead, this time receiving a more adamant shake from Alice—although that wasn't as comforting as she intended. Alice had the ability to see the future in disturbing and vivid ways, so perhaps she was not the best judge of what constituted "creepy" or not.

"You thought I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut about it?" I countered quickly, my tone clipped with mounting anger, and my damp, sleeved arms crossed firmly over my chest as I waited impatiently for a suitable answer.

This time it was Edward who shook his head, his short tawny locks rustling slightly at the movement. "No, The Volturi have been aware of Carlisle's gift since the time they met before, and no human would ever believe you," he spoke as though it was obvious—which it was, because I had already deduced as much—and his eyes visibly dulled with the all-to-familiar _you're an idiot_ look. His negative assessment of my intelligence made me want to punch him—_hard. _But I knew it would probably only result in a badly broken hand, which would be horribly embarrassing.

Seeing that I was not satisfied with his answer, Edward continued with a soft sigh, "Anyone else's knowledge of this is... irrelevant."

"Then why?" I demanded, my temper rising as I failed to understand why I had been deliberately left in the dark when I could see no reason to do so. Edward, Alice and Jasper had all been forthcoming with their miraculous gifts—what on earth did Carlisle possess that he thought would be better for me to remain unaware of?

"Carlisle's gift is… kind of unsettling," Edward began carefully, making a slight gesture with both hands in a downward motion which suggested he wanted me to "stay calm," though his face was still embossed with a cavernous black look. "He never uses it intentionally to cause anyone harm," he quickly clarified, upon seeing my brown eyes widen to golf-ball proportions in worry, "but once you know about it, it can kind of drive you insane."

My heart was hammering in my chest as I tried to imagine the gentle Carlisle I had always known as the possessor of something so horrifying that he sent truckloads of vampires and humans alike drooling and screaming off to mental institutions for psychiatric treatment. I simply couldn't accept that someone who had only ever expressed feelings of profound love toward everyone he met would have a talent like that—it was far too sadistic for him.

"He has the power to mess with your sanity?" I asked, refusing to believe it, until Edward directly confirmed it.

"…Not precisely…." Edward seemed slightly confused by my assumption, however he swiftly recovered. I, on the other hand, let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding in extreme relief. A slight frown curled downwards the corners of Edward's thin lips as he continued, his voice as icy as his skin, and gravely serious. "Carlisle's talent is the ability to manipulate memories."

I gasped—loudly.

Of all the "unsettling" abilities the kind-hearted, vampire doctor could have had, something like that had never crossed my mind—I had assumed that his talent, although never explicitly mentioned, would be something that I had already partially recognized in him. Perhaps something to explain his remarkable medical skills, or his unbelievable self-restraint near human blood… but not something like that. Certainly it wasn't overtly cruel, and I understood what Edward had meant when he said Carlisle didn't _intend_ any harm with it, but it couldn't be considered a wholly benevolent gift either. Any power that involved messing around inside someone's head seemed like a horrendous violation of the human right-to-privacy, but a power that could _change_ what you remembered went even further—it violated the right to trust your own recollection, to trust what you had seen and heard with your own eyes and ears.

I was blown away as the deadly ramifications of such an ability started to manifest themselves in my mind, and was beginning to understand why one's sanity was in danger from knowing about such a power. Experiences were the only tether a person had to reality, and if they couldn't trust their own minds to accurately remember the past, then they couldn't trust anything they experienced to be real... Without such a security, it would be very easy to slip into a paralyzing paranoia and treat every new sensation as an elaborate illusion. Even the most benign of situations would be construed as the result of some nefarious plot, and everything that was once beautiful and inspiring or relaxing would be spoiled rotten with doubt, fear and anger. Eventually—if there was no reprieve from that mind-grating state of questioning everything—that person would be rendered utterly incapable of distinguishing fantasy from reality, which would almost invariably result in clinical insanity.

I swallowed thickly. _Now that was a decent enough reason to keep me in the dark_, I conceded fearfully.

Uninterested in allowing me further time to process—for which I was actually grateful, in this rare instance—Edward rushed on in his description of Carlisle's abilities, "He can only alter occurrences in peoples' minds after-the-fact," he explained, his tone clipped and encyclopedic. "The present is always real, but he can tap into your mind's recollection of the past and make it so that your real memories are replaced with something else."

_The present is always real_—it was a small comfort, but if I were to spend any significant time around Carlisle in the future, that might be all I would have to cling onto. I froze in horror at that thought. The present was such a small sliver of my life, not to mention that it never stood still—it was always racing forward—but it was the only thing which I could trust explicitly anymore. Everything else—_everything_—was now suspect, and I could no longer absolutely trust it to be an accurate reflection of reality.

No wonder the Volturi wanted nothing to do with him.

Although the ability to alter memories might be extremely useful—especially to an organization dedicated to preserving the secrecy of the supernatural—the overwhelming paranoia that would undoubtedly smother all who knew of his incredible power and were regularly within its range could only result in large-scale psychosis. Carlisle's presence in Volterra would cripple the Volturi, and all hell would probably break loose as a result.

I struggled to absorb this revelation before Edward plowed ahead once again, spewing out more information callously, his impartial academic tone sharpening with growing annoyance. "He has to touch you to use his powers, but as with Aro's gift it can be any sort of touch, as long as it's skin-to-skin." Edward paused briefly to press his hands together, palms flush, and fingers oriented towards the ceiling as a visual representation. "A handshake, a hug, while healing an injury—you would never think it was strange," he finished with a dark emotion seething in his eyes, and I shuddered as I considered that every seemingly innocent brush of skin I had shared with the paternal vampire could have been initiated with ulterior motives.

"There is, however, one integral difference between our powers," Aro cut in, his voice polished and perfectly polite, although a delicate frown marred his beautiful features. "When I touch another, I experience all of their memories whether I desire it or not—I have no control over my gift," he explained, a longing sadness seeping into his tone, as though there were instances when this involuntary flux of memories was sometimes an unbearable burden, rather than a blessing. "Our dear Carlisle however," his voice suddenly became inflamed with a dark, passionate envy, "can _choose_ whether his touches alter memory, or if they do not."

"Is there any way to tell the difference?" I asked, panicking at the idea that friendly interaction with the man I had considered a second father—and still did, to some extent, despite recent information—could either be entirely harmless, or mentally ruinous. Although I doubted I would allow him to come anywhere near me for a _very_ long time, I wasn't certain I wanted to completely destroy our amicable relationship over this. If I had some way of knowing for sure that I was safe...

But Aro shook his head. "From Carlisle's mind I have learned that his memory-altering touches are usually longer: more lingering than is necessary—but otherwise they are indistinguishable from those that do not perform any alterations," he offered sadly, his eyes brimming with sympathy to my plight, as though he understood perfectly my desire to retain some form of companionship with the kindly, blonde vampire, but also knew it would likely only end in bitter mistrust and pain.

The deep hurt in Aro's scarlet eyes caused me to wonder if Carlisle's abilities were partially the reason for their dissolution of their friendship. Carlisle had told me that they had parted ways over a disagreement in terms of diet—that Aro was unable to cope with Carlisle's rejection of what the Volturi believed to be vampires' natural sustenance, and Carlisle could not stand to live with heartless murderers—but I couldn't help but wonder if that was the whole story. Carlisle had stayed in Italy studying medicine for several decades, and must have at least _tolerated_ Aro's inhumane diet during that time. Certainly they must have argued over it frequently, knowing how adamant Carlisle was about animal-drinking in Forks, but I was just as certain that something else had probably dealt their friendship the fatal blow.

Being unable to trust that your friend would not tamper with your memories could definitely do that.

While I was lost in my musings about Aro and Carlisle's botched friendship, and how—despite the uncomfortable way it had probably ended—Aro still spoke fondly of the Cullen patriarch, Alice unexpectedly entered the conversation. "In other words," she added, with a slight toss of her flowery scarf, "he can alter memories with _any_ touch, but does not do so with _every_ touch."

_Any touch, but not every touch _I pondered fearfully. _That too, has got to drive everyone around him insane._ With no way to tell the difference, and with his gentle, gracious personality, it would seem paranoid and rude to refuse to touch him when social customs called for it. But every touch would be tainted by fear, because you would never know that anything had changed—you wouldn't remember the memories he replaced—but you would know it was possible that he had made you forget something very important, or made you believe something that never happened. Even the tiniest moments of contact would fall under scrutiny, which led to an important question—what if he made you forget that he had touched you too?

Edward gave a brief, tight-lipped nod, in response to Alice's comment before continuing in his ruthless barrage of data: "Carlisle's power does have a few limitations, though: he can't make you forget the touch that altered your memories, and he can't invent completely new memories, because he can only change what you experienced with your five senses, and not your emotions."

Seeing the blank, bewildered look on my face and mistaking it for incredulity, Edward hastily interjected, "Carlisle tried to create a whole new event in someone's mind once instead of replacing one, but he quickly discovered that a memory without emotion is hardly a memory at all. Without emotion, experiences are meaningless, sterile and disorienting—so the person he gave this 'memory' to immediately knew it was fake."

_So all my emotions in my memories were real_—that was a greater comfort, since it assured that my love for Edward hadn't been a complete lie, but I still felt the near irresistible urge to squirm at the thought that some of the tastes, touches, smells, sounds and sights recorded in my imperfect human memory were mere fabrications. Everything I could remember seemed so real…

"Also, the replacement memory should not be at odds with the original emotions, or else the memory will feel off," Edward explained, somewhat distractedly, his glimmering eyes flickering over at Aro and the next closest vampires standing several feet behind him. "It isn't exactly normal to feel nothing but contentment when your wife is being brutally murdered before your eyes…" he analogized morbidly.

His frightening statement was followed by a dramatic silence.

I sucked in a breath. _Had Carlisle ever fabricated a memory like that?_ _Although it's marginally better to simply make someone think something awful like that happened, than to actually do it yourself, that's such a… dark thing for Carlisle to do. It's like… psychological torture. Not to mention that you'll go totally insane when you find out that person is still alive and you realize that your memories don't ontologically match up with reality. _

I noticed, out of the corner of my eye that Caius' ruby eyes were glittering with excitement and his dusty lips had cracked into a wide, animalistic grin—all blindingly white teeth and no compassion—as he seemed to consider the more brutal uses of such a gift. After a few seconds however, his feral grin rapidly twisted into a deep scowl as he seemed to realize this power might be targeted at himself, rather than hapless bystanders, and his eyebrows narrowed in competitive determination. Marcus, as usual, was determinedly unimpressed with the recent proceedings, however he did manage to cast a lazy glance at Caius, before shaking his head in what looked like exasperated disbelief.

After giving a few moments to digest the darker possibilities of Carlisle's power, Edward unceremoniously broke silence, his low, warning tone and suddenly blackened gaze—a gaze more glacial and threatening than anything that had ever been directed at me before—startling me. "But as long as the basic sentiment aligns with what really happened, and there aren't any sudden changes in your environment, you shouldn't be able to tell the difference," he finished cautioningly, before languidly looking over his shoulder at his sister, who offered him a cheery smile and two gloved thumbs up.

At first I was horrified by Alice's reaction—_was she really offering such an enthusiastic gesture of support towards that sort of incomprehensibly cruel mental torture_?—until it dawned on me that she was approving Edward's discourse as a whole, rather than his most recent statement.

Once he realized that Alice seemed to find his explanation adequate, Edward heaved an exhausted sigh, and his eyes briefly flickered longingly in some unknowable direction, before his shoulders sagged even further, and he began tapping his foot impatiently. I wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but at the moment I was far too absorbed in trying come to terms with all the mind-melting information I had just received, to be concerned about him.

_Shouldn't be able to tell the difference_—I still wanted a better reassurance that I could still discern reality after that. If not—I was all but destined to completely lose my mind. "…Wouldn't something that never happened feel fake?" I timidly enquired, hoping to recover some of my feelings of mental security. I was disappointed however, when Edward's response was less than one-hundred-percent affirmative.

"Sometimes," he conceded partially, though judging by the pungent doubt corroding his usually melodious tone, it sounded as if such an event was rather rare, at least recently. "That is why Carlisle prefers to keep as many things the same as possible, and only alters moments he was present for… unless he has no other choice," he finished forebodingly.

I wondered what situations led Carlisle to think he had "no other choice," and I also wondered why my discovering the truth that the Cullens were vampires didn't make the list. For, if the only real law in the vampire world was to prevent knowledge of their kind from falling into human hands, then my deductions were not only dangerous to myself, but possibly life-threatening to the entire clan. Why would he leave me with something that could easily destroy him? Or was it really impossible to invent a situation where I would naturally feel the same shock, the same sensation of all my over-arching beliefs about what was mythical and what was factual being overturned practically overnight, that didn't involve the truth? Or was there another reason Carlisle allowed me to retain my knowledge…?

"It takes a lot of finesse to fabricate realistic memories, because believability is all in the fine details," Edward answered suddenly, attempting to satisfy my unasked questions, although he could not hear them so he was off base in his estimation of my ponderings, "but he's gotten pretty good at it in the last couple of years."

"He's never altered my memories," Edward hurriedly clarified, upon seeing my eyes widen from the assumption that he knew of Carlisle's memory-altering prowess from firsthand-experience. "...At least, I don't think so..." Edward's face twisted with obvious concern and distrust and I didn't blame him—there really was no way to know. "He says that he likes to keep my memories pure, so that he's not the only one with an accurate recollection of the past. Whether or not that is true, I can't say..." Again, Edward frowned in frustration, his arms crossing defensively over his chest, and suspicions of betrayal flickered in his amber eyes. "However I can see in the minds of others that they believe the memories he's replaced to be as real as the rest."

Despite Edward's mistrust it made sense that Carlisle wouldn't want to be the only one who knew the whole truth, because then he would be eternally barred from discussing it with anyone… which was bound to drive him crazy. There was also the side-benefit that it provided him someone to cover for him if he ever slipped up and was unable to rectify the slip with his powers—without whom the results could be disastrous. However, the most compelling reason for Edward to be left unadulterated was that his mind-reading powers would make it virtually impossible to keep the truth secret from him for very long anyway. It certainly wasn't impossible to do, but it was such an immense hassle to hide things from the telepathic vampire, I had no doubts that Carlisle wouldn't attempt it with something as serious as this.

It was discomforting to consider that perhaps that the other the Cullens were not aware of the whole, unmodified truth, even though Carlisle clearly thought of them all as family. But it was even more disturbing to realize that I was neither family—despite Alice's previous declaration on the airplane that she already considered me her sister—nor did I have any power like Edward's that necessitated that I would be "in the know".

Which led me to the question I'd been burning to ask since the very beginning of this terrifying revelation.

"H-has he used this power on me?" My first voicing of the question was barely more than a whisper—although I was well aware that everyone in the room had heard it with their outrageous super-hearing—and my weak voice shook violently with trepidation. Edward's pointed gaze at nothing in particular indicated that he was determined to ignore my inquiry, so I asked a second time… this time mustering all the brazen courage I could.

"Has Carlisle used this power on me, or not, Edward!?" I bellowed at the top of my lungs, shocking him out of his flimsy charade of not having heard me, and causing his whole frame to stiffen momentarily in alarm. It was nearly imperceptible, as he almost immediately relaxed, but for a tiny portion of a second I had managed to frighten Edward—a knowledge which made me swell with pride.

Edward quickly opened his mouth to answer, but then hesitated, a conflicted look passing over his sharp features and abruptly closed it. Once again I folded my arms disapprovingly across my chest, set my face into the deepest scowl I could manage without looking utterly ridiculous, and began tapping my sneakered foot impatiently—I absolutely _refused_ to wait until tomorrow on this one. I needed to know _now_.

After a few seconds of strangled silence, it was Caius who snapped first, rising swiftly out of his throne and darting with vampiric speed towards Edward, his icy white hands reaching viciously for the younger vampire's throat, and his expression simply murderous. He moved so fast, I barely registered a blur of white hair and the noisy flapping of his long cape in his wake, before all ten of his spindly fingers were fastened tightly around Edward's neck, and Caius had him hoisted several inches off the ground.

Caius stared unforgivingly into the eyes that were now so very close to his, his lips drawn fiercely over his teeth in a malefic sneer, and whispered threateningly, "I think it is in your best interest to answer the insignificant little human girl." His voice was quiet, but shrill, like a hiss, "It matters little to me, but Aro seems to be unwilling to allow our dinner to enter while she is still here."

I gasped as I realized that Aro was standing near the entrance of the room, instead of where he'd been standing merely moments ago and wondered if he had moved at the same time as Caius, or if I had simply missed the sight and sound of his movements entirely. It appeared that he was conversing with a tall, mahogany-haired vampire who stood in front of a large crowd—a tour group, it looked like, from their candid photo-snapping and curious glances.

My heart sank and I repressed the mounting urge to vomit as I realized that they were what Caius meant when he said "dinner." I watched as the woman Aro was speaking to offered a quick understanding nod in his direction, before turning to the crowd, and leading them down the hall with a bright, tantalizing smile—a slight detour, I supposed, before they wound up back here.

I was well-informed before my arrival in Italy that the Volturi were human-drinkers—and if I had not believed it from the many accounts I had received from the Cullens, I now had witnessed their telltale crimson eyes in the flesh. But I had never envisioned anything like this… All of those innocent tourists had no idea of the gruesome fate which awaited them. They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were the proverbial lambs being led to the slaughter.

The innocent smiles on their faces had been painful to look at—because I knew that those soft, carefree expressions would soon contort with insurmountable terror, and after they met their inevitable doom, would likely be frozen that way forever. It made me physically sick—and I forced myself to swallow the caustic bile that was rising fast in my throat.

Once every last oblivious tourist was safely out of sight, Aro slowly shut the wooden door, and flitted back to his original position. The movement occurred at such a speed that it appeared that he had teleported—for it seemed that one moment he was standing casually beside the entryway, and the next he stood alert between myself and the struggling pair of vampires. The only indication that he had used his long legs to cover the distance instead of been beamed in, _Star-Trek_-style, was his cape, which billowed dramatically behind him before settling smoothly against his back.

Despite Aro's return, Caius persisted in his harassment of Edward. "Certainly, you understand that it is… _unwise_ to keep a famished vampire waiting…" he trailed off ominously, licking his lips in anticipation of inflicting some unimaginably horrific things on the poor vampire in his death grip. Luckily, Edward didn't need to breathe—or else he would have been very dead already.

"Go ahead," Edward goaded him, his voice raspy and weak as he struggled to summon enough air to speak, "Kill me. See if I care."

Both Caius and I were stunned by the evident seriousness in Edward's tone, but I was more stunned by Caius' reaction to Edward's apathetic statement. He rapidly relinquished his grasp on the shorter vampire in disgust, as though Edward's skin was slimy and horribly unpleasant, before storming away in the direction of his throne, muttering something incomprehensible to himself. As Caius seated himself once again, and Edward gently rubbed at his neck where it had been locked in the white-haired vampire's grasp mere moments before, I thought I heard Caius grumble something that sounded like "suicidal freak", but I couldn't be sure.

Aro slowly drifted over to where Edward stood, the movement absolutely silent and impossibly graceful, with his arms outstretched as if intending to pull the injured vampire a fatherly hug. Edward stiffened at the jarring sight of the ancient Volturi leader so shamelessly offering such an intimate thing, and shook his head back and forth vigorously to signify his distaste for the idea. Aro frowned fleetingly, before letting his arms drop gradually to his sides, as though he still harbored hope for Edward to accept his invitation—a hope which, judging by his mortified expression, Edward clearly didn't share.

For a moment, Aro leaned back slightly and surveyed the morose creature before him with a scrutinizing gaze before, without warning, his hand shot up and triumphantly brushed against Edward's cheek—and thus forcibly attained all of Edward's thoughts since their previous encounter. Edward glowered darkly at the underhanded move, but made no effort to remove the hand that continued to softly, yet brazenly stroke his face.

"…I am saddened, Edward." Aro's velvety voice cut through the awkward tension like a knife through butter, and although his tone was severe, I immediately felt more at ease. "I had hoped that with the knowledge that your _beloved_ was still alive that you would have relinquished your silly fatalistic desires," his voice tinged bitterly with sarcasm when his tongue rolled over the word "beloved" but it was otherwise pleasant—concerned, certainly, but seemingly more interested in securing Edward's welfare, than exacting any form of punishment.

"Alas, it seems that I was mistaken," Aro lamented finally, dropping his hand, and giving a soft shake of his head. "Isabella will be _so _disappointed."

_Edward still wanted to die?_ I thought, disbelievingly—though I was more assured of the fact that I could probably live without him now, the idea of him throwing his life away like that still hurt. Didn't he understand that life was precious?

"Her name, is _Bella_." Edward ground out, but his voice lacked the full sincerity that I was accustomed to when he came to my defense. Instead he simply looked tired—exhausted by the idea of even performing a task as simple as breathing—and his eyes were dulled by an oppressive apathy, as though he had decided, now that Aro knew the truth, that there was no point in pretending to care about anything.

It shocked me to see him like this—for although he was undeniably prone to his fair share of moody moments, he had never appeared to have had the life vacuumed out of him, as he did now. His vacant expression was so unlike the Edward that I had known in Forks that, for a split second, I thought I was looking at Marcus instead. Concerned by this unnerving mistake, I wondered if it was possible that their apparent misery had originated from the same source….

To add credence to my theory, I hazarded a quick glance in Marcus' direction, and my heart skipped a beat as I suddenly reached an epiphany as to what that look in both their eyes meant:

It was practically written all over their faces.

Both Marcus and Edward had completely lost the will to live.

There was nothing, it seemed, that could fill the cavernous holes in their lives, and they were left as hardly more than cold, hard, empty shells of men. While Edward lacked the oppressive air of boredom which seemed to have taken up permanent residence around Marcus (likely from remaining in this state for far too long), both of their lightless eyes seemed to be begging for death. However, it seemed that Edward had the tenacity—or perhaps simply the stupidity—to ask for the release that the Volturi had evidently forbidden to bequeath to Marcus, not just once, but _twice_.

But now that I was beginning to understand that Edward's reason for coming here to Volterra had absolutely nothing to do with me—as I had begun to suspect—and I was likely nothing more than a convenient excuse for him to achieve his self-destroying ends, I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I couldn't exactly beg him to live for "us" because I didn't want there to be an "us" anymore. I couldn't ask him to live for Carlisle, because it was now obvious that there was some heavy animosity and distrust between the two—despite Carlisle's immense unconditional love for Edward. I couldn't ask him to live for anything else because he had never shown me anything other than myself that gave him a reason to remain alive….

I remembered that Edward had admitted to me that he had harbored suicidal thoughts in the past, which he said were because he thought himself to be a soulless monster—a belief that Carlisle had tried tirelessly to cure him of. But I had thought he had let those feelings go after we got together. I knew that there was something dark in his eyes sometimes, and after I had started studying more about his unusual hunger for my blood, I had assumed that it was always thirst, or guilt as a direct result of the thirst. But there were times when his eyes darkened in a way that could only be described as hopelessly sad—like a kicked puppy—and I couldn't look away.

The more I pondered it the more I understood that if Edward hadn't renounced his desire to die, and Carlisle remained adamant in his attempts to sustain him, Edward might resort to drastic measures—like fabricating a tragic romance that was a sad parody of _Romeo and Juliet_, and asking the Volturi to deal the finishing blow. Although it was unbelievably corny in hindsight, it was probably the only suicide that Carlisle would accept. Whether Edward had actually expected me to fling myself off a cliff in despair after he left, or whether that was simply a opportune coincidence was up for debate—although judging by the intensity of our relationship, and the way he kept insisting that we should be each other's reasons for living, complete with none-too-subtle Shakespeare references, I was inclined to believe the former.

It shocked me that someone I had once claimed to love so deeply could ultimately be so callous as to throw my life away to end his—but at the moment, it was the only explanation for Edward's bizarre behavior that was making any shred of sense.

And if that was true...

…my whole relationship with Edward Cullen had been a lie.


	6. Chapter 5: Gathering Darkness

**AN: So that was crazy, right? Edward still wants to die! What a weirdo... And we still have no idea whether or not Carlisle has altered Bella's memories. Remember, Bella at this point doesn't understand that she has a "shield", she just thinks she's some kind of freaky exception only to Edward's powers. She has no idea that she can block others-like Aro-because Edward is the only vampire she's known whose powers can't effect her at this point. Alice can still see her, since it doesn't involve a direct intrusion of her mind, and Jasper can still affect her, because his powers are physical instead of mental. Whether or not Carlisle's gift can breech her shield is something you'll have to read and find out ;) But it will be discussed in future chapters, I promise. **

**Also, in this chapter I use a sparse bit of Italian (like, one phrase that shouldn't be hard to deduce)-and _not_ the famous "la tua cantante". I did a fair bit of research on Italian grammar and I'm 98% sure I got it right, but if any native speakers are amongst my readers, validation or correction would be appreciated. Anyone who needs a translation can always ask, and I'll put it in the author's notes for the next chapter, or you can just look it up. For how small this phrase is, even the notorious Google Translate will work. **

**And... on with the show! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Gathering Darkness<strong>

The sound of smooth hands clapping together echoed through the tense, stale air that now permeated the room, as Aro brought them swiftly together in the air to the side of his face. "Let's get back to the topic at hand, shall we?" he suggested cheerily, as though we were discussing something as benign as the weather, rather than grave topics such as hitherto unknown memory-modification powers, and the fate of a suicidal vampire who had used me in an attempt to achieve his morbid ends. "We were just in the middle of a _fascinating _discussion about our dear friend Carlisle," Aro continued, his eyes sparkling with boundless enthusiasm, "before your dear _brother_ decided not to answer a very important question." The distaste in his voice was unmistakable, but it almost sounded more as though Edward's refusal was nothing greater than a mild nuisance—like an infinitesimal spot of mud on Aro's favorite pair of shoes—however, his expression left no doubt that he was beyond irate with my ex-boyfriend's stubbornness.

"First, you wanted to know whether or not our friend Carlisle has utilized his powers to alter your memories," he reminded me, "Although I am already aware of the answer, I would ask your brother to share the tale himself," he paused for a moment, his eyes flickering darkly in Edward's direction for the tiniest of moments, so quickly I almost missed it, before they resumed their warm regard of the nervous human in front of them. "But it seems he is, regrettably, unwilling to do so," Aro finished with a mild frown.

"However," Aro spoke suddenly, as though just stricken with an amazing epiphany, the sunlight dancing over the crystalline planes of his hands and face as a cloud departed from where it had been blocking one of the high windows, "it would be infinitely more convincing for you to see with your own eyes what I have seen with mine."

_See with my own eyes what he had seen with his?_ I questioned internally, entirely confounded by his words. _Like... see other's memories? Was that even possible? Could Aro somehow share his gift with others? Or was he talking about something else completely? _

I was jerked from my thoughts when Aro slowly set his right hand on my shoulder. I knew it was meant as an innocently consoling gesture, but knowing the immense power that lurked within that hand—a hand which had probably caressed as many as it had killed—I was torn between feelings of extreme fear, and feelings of morbid attraction. There was something perversely sexy about being touched so tenderly by the same hand that had probably slaughtered thousands.

Wait… _what_?

I did _not_ just think that.

Aro's smile grew, and for a horrifying moment I wondered if he had read my thoughts, until I recalled that his hand was only making contact with the damp fabric of my long-sleeved button-up shirt and not my bare skin. Instead, it grew in response to the words he knew he was going to speak next—words which I supposed he wasn't afforded to opportunity to say very often: "My daughters will be delighted to assist you."

_Daughters?_ I wondered at his usage of the familial term, and wondered if he meant the term literally and was referring to girls he had fathered during his human life, and then transformed into vampires, or if he simply referred to those he had changed personally as though they were his "children." The idea of Aro procreating with anyone—even thousands of years ago—left a bitter taste in my mouth.

In response to Aro's offer of assistance, two short figures who were sheathed in hooded black cloaks and barely tall enough to reach my waist began walking towards us, weaving expertly through the crowd of taller vampires who stood around the edges of the room. As they breached the front row of the bodies huddled along the wall, stepping into the wide space between them and where Edward, Alice, Aro and I stood in the center of the room, both of the tiny figures broke into an inhumanly fast dash, their hoods flying back, and cloaks blowing open in the wind.

What I saw next, however, completely blew my mind.

The two figures were both arrayed in frilly, multi-layered dresses, which were bordered with lace on every edge and smothered in ribbons and bows in a manner reminiscent of Rococo Era royalty—except for the fact that all the fabrics used were either blood-red or pitch black, with some of them sparkling as dazzlingly as their skin, instead of the soft pastels favored by mortals of that time period. But while their ostentatious manner of dress was confusing, even more shocking were their features. Instead of simply being unusually short, albeit full-grown adults, the two were identical little girls, who appeared no more than the age of six or seven, with long, straight black hair styled with elegant clips, and round, childish eyes the same ruby hue as Aro's, although several shades brighter. Their skin refracted the sunlight in the characteristic way of the undead, and their gleaming white teeth were perfectly straight—something quite unusual for human girls that age.

In short, they were extremely young vampires.

The two small girls rushed excitedly towards Aro, releasing a series of high-pitched, chime-like giggles, and clutched their skirts with their tiny pale fingers to keep themselves from tripping over them. Aro's face positively glowed as they approached, and he swiftly bent to scoop them up—seizing one girl in each arm with an odd combination of tenderness and supernatural strength—before hoisting them both up as he rose to his feet to rest on his hips.

It was strange—they acted as though Aro was their father in the literal sort of way, and the startling similarities between the three of them further supported that assumption—but I couldn't understand why he would choose to turn them at such a young age. His daughters would be frozen at that juvenile stage of physical and emotional development forever, and to do that to anyone, especially one's own children, seemed impossibly cruel. There was also the fact that I vaguely remembered Alice mentioning something about creating immortal children being one of the biggest crimes in Volturi law. Although I hadn't known him for very long, Aro didn't seem like the kind of man who would be such an obvious hypocrite, but I failed to see any other feasible alternatives—the two twin girls had all the telltale features of vampirism, and Rosalie had been pretty adamant when she said that vampires were sterile.

Perhaps, they were something else that Aro had chosen to adopt—maybe a genetic cousin to vampires? No... that didn't make any sense...

"My darling little princesses, I have something to ask of you," Aro said, his voice barely above a whisper, and so saccharine with fatherly adoration it could almost be considered cooing. The twins giggled in delight at the hopelessly spoiled treatment they were receiving before responding in eerie unison: "We already know, father. You want us to show the human the truth about the golden-eyed one."

I took an uneasy step backwards—no two people, vampires or not, should be in such perfect sync to say that many words in exactly the same way at the exact same time. Although their voices differed slightly from another, one a high childish soprano, and the other nearly an alto despite its youth, creating a beautiful harmony when they spoke, it was almost as if there was only one mind between the two of them. I seriously contemplated the possibility, given the plethora of weird legends surrounding twins (especially identical ones), and my previous experiences that taught me not to discount such myths immediately, but the notion seemed a bit too bizarre to be real. Perhaps they simply had a mind-link—that would not be overly unusual.

My musings were cut short, however, as the girl resting against Aro's left hip, and clinging to his shoulder spoke alone, her voice the higher-pitched of the two: "I'll do anything for you, _il mio padre_," she answered, beaming with exuberant joy, throwing her precious little arms enthusiastically around Aro's neck, and depositing a small, swift kiss on his forehead. The scene was so magnificently adorable, I had to purse my lips firmly together to keep a sentimental "aww" from slipping out.

"I won't," the other girl bit out impetuously, twisting her petite, doll-like face into the fiercest scowl she could manage, crossing her tiny arms staunchly over her chest, and turning up her nose in her best imitation of Caius' recent sulky behavior. I held a hand over my mouth and tried to repress a laugh—though I was not entirely successful, as a small chuckle managed to escape before I could contain it. Although this young girl sitting on Aro's right hip was certainly giving her very best attempt at looking imposing and indomitable, her chubby cheeks and large round eyes seemed to cancel out all the ferocity she had mustered in her features. If anything, her vicious expression only served to make her even more darling.

Aro's face turned to the girl on his right, and he positively melted, his eyes wide with shock and desperation, and his face pained, as though her rejection had dealt him a physical blow. His eyes even looked teary, and I was entirely certain that he was exaggerating—because he probably dealt with silly things like this all the time—but the little girl brooding in her expensive gown totally bought the act.

"I…" her young alto voice faltered with her slipping resolve, and she fisted her tiny hands in frustration with herself for being so easily swayed. "I'll only help if you promise me another dress!" she conceded spitefully, whipping her head around to face her father, her waist-length black hair twirling mesmerizingly around her. "Lucretia ripped my other one," she indicted, sending an accusatory crimson-eyed glare in the direction of her twin sister.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" the girl I now knew to be Lucretia retorted vehemently.

"Yes you did!" the other refuted with equal passion.

"No I didn't!" Lucretia defended, her voice rising to a painfully loud volume, which combined with its high-pitch, rattled my eardrums violently like microphone feedback. I immediately felt bad for Aro, who, with his super-hearing and closer proximity to the hazardous sound waves was probably in unbearable agony.

"Yes you d—" the alto began angrily, before she was abruptly cut off by her "father".

"Titania dear," he implored smoothly, his brow still slightly wrinkled in response to the recent aural onslaught, but his voice effortlessly soft and tender like melting butter. "Certainly another dress can be arranged, but at the moment I need both of you to behave," he lectured gently, casting each one of his daughters a loving, but stern look, which offered no provision for complaints. "This is very important."

Titania wriggled uncomfortably for a moment under her father's piercing gaze before settling resignedly and offering a small, curt nod. "Yes, father," she responded in perfect unison with her sister—though Titania's voice was decidedly less cheery.

"You have my sincerest thanks, my dears," Aro responded gratefully, before he bent fluidly and set the twins on the ground once again—their tiny black-booted feet darting in my direction as soon as they touched the flagstone, a gleeful smile on Lucretia's face and a grudging scowl on Titania's. As the twin vampires approached me, their father floating slowly behind, Edward's face became panicked and he surged forward a few steps, his posture tense, combative and his teeth bared.

"No, you can't do this!" He snarled riotously, "she can't know—she wasn't meant to be exposed to stuff like this…." The veins on his forehand and knuckles looked like they were ready to burst—although if they did, it wouldn't really matter, as they were completely dry anyway. I supposed it might still hurt, though. "I didn't tell her for a reason!" he carried on fervidly, his fists shaking with uninhibited fury, "It would be better if she—"

Aro whirled to face Edward, his cape swirling menacingly around him, and his deadly expression immediately stopping the younger vampire's angry rant. "Are you trying to apologize for that fact that you introduced her to our world?" he responded furiously, with a snarl of his own, which made all the hairs on my body prickle in fascination and fear. "Or for the fact that you callously used her in a pathetic attempt to terminate your own life?" he countered bitterly, his marble-like lips sneering in disgust. "Because I fear it is far too late for either, Edward."

Edward looked torn between rolling his eyes at the melodramatic statement, gaping in shock at the fact that I now knew his dirty little secret (which I had already figured out on my own) and trying to ascertain how swiftly he could goad the ancient vampire into killing him. But instead of inspiring fright, his mixed emotions resulted in an expression that looked—constipated.

But even more startling than Edward's humorous manifestation of his inner turmoil, were my own feelings about the confrontation unfolding before me. Although when I had initially entered this room I had begged the cosmos to spare Edward's life at the cost of all else, I was now rescinding that pathetic plea, and instead diverted my request toward sparing the lives of myself and Alice—the innocent victims of this nasty scheme. I still irrationally hoped that Edward would change his mind and decide to try to live a happy life, (obviously one without me as his girlfriend) but I sincerely doubted he was going to leave Italy by any other means than giving up the ghost. If there was one truth I had learned about Edward during our factitious months together, it was that he was obtusely stubborn—if he wanted something, he would stop at nothing to obtain it.

Aro raised a delicate black eyebrow at the peculiar concoction of emotion on Edward's face, before he instantly composed and continued, languidly gesturing in my direction. "Our Isabella is a perceptive one," he commented appraisingly, his mouth curling slowly into a soft smile, "and I am certain she would have deduced the truth of our world, and your trickery sooner or later," he added, his beautiful white teeth glistening as he spoke, and his incredible faith he had in my observation skills causing my cheeks to flush darkly.

Edward frowned at the flattering comment, but remained silent and motionless.

"Ah, but it is still, such a waste," Aro lamented, and for a terrifying second I thought we were back to talking about my ridiculously delectable blood—_really, is that all that vampires can talk about? I know that it's supposed to be better than sex, but still…_—until he continued, his voice growing bitter and acerbic, and his eyes seething with unrivaled revulsion, "Such a waste that you would prefer our lovely Isabella not to embrace her heart's true desire."

_My what? My heart's true desire? _I thought incredulously. _Why would that be a waste? It's not like he really cares—or does he? And what would my true heart's desire even be? Now that I knew that Edward had betrayed me, that only left… Oh. _Oh. _That would make perfect sense._

"See, Edward?" Alice chirped delightedly, bouncing up and down on her heels, her thin gloved arms swaying around her, and her floral scarf rippling in the slight breeze. "Even Aro can tell that Bella wants to be like us!" Her lilting soprano voice was warring between pleading and ecstatic—but it seemed that ecstasy won in the end, and she beamed, an enormous smile stretching across her cute heart-shaped face.

"Shut up, Alice!" Edward barked viciously, venom pooling rapidly in his mouth, and his golden eyes glowering at her onyx irises—as though there was something off about them. "She doesn't know what she's asking for!" He insisted loudly, his tightly balled fists clenching and unclenching, as though his pale fingers were searching for something to latch onto and crush between them, "She doesn't really want that…"

"On the contrary," Aro interposed, his tone contemplative, and his lengthy fingers resting against his chin in deep thought, "it has been such a long time since I have seen one so sure of what she wants." The corner of his lip suddenly curved upwards, as though tugged by an invisible puppet-string, and his eyes took on a mirthful glint as though he had thought of a particularly intriguing idea. "It is tempting…" he mused aloud, his calculating gaze flickering animatedly between Edward, Alice and I, and the pearly white hand on his chin dropped to interlock with the other in front of his waist. "I might simply give it to her myself."

"You wouldn't dare!" Edward howled irately, before suddenly bolting forward with his hands drawn back and tensed open, as though preparing to savagely scratch Aro's eyes out. Before he could get very far, Alice dashed across the floor with amazing speed, despite the seven-inch stiletto heels on her knee-high boots, and caught him securely in her tiny arms, dragging him backwards with all her might. This time however, her grip on him didn't seem to be enough to hold him back, as she was starting to slide forward along the pale stone floors, her heels scraping against the ground in a futile attempt to regain her footing. With a panicked expression on her face, she inclined her head toward Demetri and Felix who stood at the forefront of the crowd of vampires huddled around the edges of the room, silently imploring them to help her.

Both vampires rushed forward, their black velvety cloaks billowing dramatically behind them, and each seized one of Edward's madly flailing arms in both of theirs, before planting their feet firmly on the stone and pulling backwards with all their might. Despite their strong hold, Edward still surged forward, and there was a sickening cracking sound, like slowly breaking ice, followed by a horrendous _snap_, and a mortifying scream. As Edward moaned in excruciating pain, the two Volturi brothers stood superiorly on either side of him, each holding a severed arm, which were both still twitching wildly despite their recent detachment.

As the Volturi struggled to subdue Edward's dismembered appendages, I wanted to scream myself—the scene was certainly ghastly enough to warrant it, even though it was bloodless carnage. However, my throat seemed incapable of making any sound other than a fragile, frightened whimper. I knew his arms could be reconnected, so long as they weren't cast into a fire, but that knowledge did nothing to mitigate the sheer horror of watching someone get torn apart like that. It was just so ridiculously violent—it made my own arms twitch in sympathetic discomfort.

Now lacking an important pair of limbs, and trapped in Alice's suffocating clutches around his neck, Edward finally slumped in defeat, and halted his frantic progress toward Aro. A wry smile tugged at his lips, despite the scrunched look of agony of his face, as though he was pleased that he had managed to get this close to his aberrant goals. The thought that Edward was deriving some kind of masochistic pleasure out of all of this made me even more sick.

"I will not transform her at the moment, of course," Aro spoke conversationally, as though we were all excellently good friends, and nothing at all violent had just occurred, with one hand twirling lazily in the air to punctuate the validity of his statement. "I want her to make an informed decision—to force a change on her without that would be barbaric, really," he surmised casually, releasing his hand from its lofty position and pressing the tips of his fingers together.

"Oh and you're one to talk about what's _barbaric_…" Edward hissed through his teeth, his russet-topped head inclining sharply towards the two Volturi guards beside him, still clutching his gross, flopping arms. Alice frowned sadly at Edward's assessment, but I could tell from her eyes that she partially agreed with him—the only reason she was not more visibly distraught with the situation, however, probably had to do with the fact that Edward had brought it on himself.

"You're rather _civilized_ yourself—trying to scratch my eyes out with your bare hands," Aro countered sarcastically, leaving his daughters at my side and sliding over the smooth stone closer to Edward's mangled form.

"I wasn't going for your _eyes_…" Edward clarified, his tone menacing, eyes blacked with wicked satisfaction, and his mouth warped into a hideously sadistic smile.

A mortified look of comprehension dawned on Aro's face before he elicited a dark chuckle. "…Oh, you would really stoop _that low_, and then presume to lecture me about barbarism?"

"I wasn't going for _that_ either, you sicko," Edward spat in obvious disgust.

"Of course not," his melodious voice, though flawlessly polite, seemed thoroughly unconvinced. "Because the Edward I know is the _perfect_ gentleman," he said with a slight snort—the strange noise somehow managing to still sound angelic, despite its oddity—and gave the barest roll of his deep scarlet eyes.

"Don't mock me…" Edward threatened—although it was rather unsuccessful, as it was difficult to look dangerous when one was slumped awkwardly, held in a fierce headlock by their petite sister, and currently sporting jagged stubs instead of proper arms.

Aro's head sailed back, his silky black hair soaring in a beautiful arc along with it, and he erupted into maniacal laughter at the perversely hilarious scene before him. "Ha, ha, ha, ha! That is a… difficult request, I'm afraid," he replied, his face alight with a crazed happiness, and his whole body shaking uncontrollably from the humor of such a hopelessly damaged creature making such a forceful demand.

_This man is totally insane, _I realized. _One minute he's the perfect dad, then he's all serious, next he's furious, and then he's sarcastic, and now he's laughing his head off. His mood-swings are worse than PMS! What is wrong with this guy? And why, through all of this, do I still think he's ludicrously sexy?_

As abruptly as it had begun, Aro's disturbing laughter suddenly ceased, and there became a gravity about him—a thick, daunting seriousness that seemed to make everything in the room feel heavier. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence—which seemed to stretch on for minutes—though it probably didn't even comprise one. I shivered violently when he finally spoke, his voice formidable and cascading like a liquid dark chocolate: it was smooth and beautiful, but hot enough to burn.

"But I may grant your wish for Isabella's sake," he droned forebodingly, triggering a bewildered look to cross my own features, earning a disapproving gasp from Alice, and causing Edward's amber eyes to widen in extreme disbelief. _Was he really saying what I thought he was saying?_

"There have been far too many interruptions, thus far," Aro explained curtly, his floor-length robes and cape ghosting elegantly over the ground as he swept closer to Edward's tortured body. "While it pains me to succumb to your manipulations," he articulated with stricken pride, raising his lean arm slowly in preparation to strike, "you have given me no other choice."

"Although you may have exceptional powers—for which reason I originally spared you—you _waste_ them!" he unexpectedly shouted, the startling display of his razor-sharp temper causing everyone in the room, even the other vampires, to jump in fright. "…Just as you have wasted every other good thing that you have been blessed with!" Aro's voice was so overcome with loathing that his arm began to shake slightly as it hung in the air, directly above Edward's head.

"_You_, Edward Cullen, are a _waste_," he seethed, as though that fact made Edward some sort of hellish abomination.

"And for that, I, Aro of the Volturi, am going to _end_ you."


	7. Chapter 6: Incursion of the Mind

**Update 9/19/2014: I cut some of the fluff. And I'm sorry if the pacing has become agonizingly slow-it speeds up soon I promise. **

**AN: This chapter is pretty intense. I think it speaks for itself.**

**As for the previous one, I am curious as to how you guys feel about the twins-Lucretia and Titania. I know, I know more OCs. I promise they won't be the main focus of the story (no OC plot worms here) I just need some convenient tools to move things along, and they work rather nicely. ;)**

* * *

><p><strong> Chapter Six: Incursion of the Mind<strong>

Everything was suddenly happening too fast.

Just moments after Aro's staggering declaration, Alice slipped swiftly out of her firm headlock around Edward, causing him to haggardly fall to his knees against the cool stone floor, and she hopped backwards from him, touching down with one foot a few times between jumps, with an echoing: _tap, tap, tap. _Her gloved arms were spread wide behind her as she sailed through the air, which, along with her stylishly loose sweater, gave off the impression that she was some strange species of bat. As her boots collided harshly with the pavement the final time, there was a loud _clack_, and I could see that she had landed in a low crouched position, a safe distance away from the center of the room, with one hand splayed wide on the floor for balance.

While the sound of stiletto heels striking rock was still reverberating powerfully in my ears, Aro's raised arm began to descend lethally over Edward's head, which the younger vampire held painfully still with a lopsided grin etching his pristine features in eager anticipation of his impending doom. Aro's hand sliced through the air in a motion that seemed to indicate he was going to cleave Edward's skull in half, karate-chop-style—and although it was certainly an unorthodox approach to vampire slaying, I had no doubt that it would be just as fatal.

A blood-curdling scream tore through my dry throat, "No! Don't kill him, please!" I begged Aro hysterically, bolting forward several steps, and throwing up a halting hand—fingers spread wide and desperate—as his deadly arm plummeted rapidly towards Edward, even though I knew it was already too late to stop him. Horrified by the prospect of witnessing the gruesome results of Aro's wrath, I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could manage to block the view of the brain-butchery that would shortly occur, ducked my head into my chest, and cupped my hands over my ears to hopefully somewhat muffle the accompanying sounds.

I cringed and my entire being trembled pathetically as I waited impatiently for any indication of commotion—but the only sound I heard in the tormenting moments which followed my futile plea was my own blood ringing in my ears. There was no sickening crack of diamond hard skin, no rustling of capes to signify a horde of vampires rushing to dispose of the body, no roar of flames, no cruel laughter from Caius at the brutal entertainment his brother had provided, no apology from Alice for abandoning Edward in such a critical moment, no remorseful speech from Aro about how wasteful this all was—

Nothing.

Just agonizing silence.

It must have happened so fast that I missed it.

Very slowly I lifted the heavy lids of my eyes, and squirmed involuntarily as I realized that all the eyes in the room were firmly fixed on me—and not on the space of ground where the broken pieces of Edward's mangled body should be lying. Instinctively I lowered my head away from their piercing gazes, and wanted nothing more than to keep my eyes firmly fastened on the large stones beneath my feet, but in the end, my curiosity got the better of me (as it always does) and I found my head slowly rising.

At first, my blurry vision brought three pairs of legs into view: one pair shrouded in long black robes, another cased in taupe, ruffled, knee-high boots, and the third clad in casual black jeans, their feet tucked out of sight in their kneeling position. As my eyes hesitantly rose over the figures, I tensed my hands into tight fists and chewed on my lower lip in preparation for the horrific scene that was sure to greet me when my line of sight climbed high enough. I felt droplets of sweat beading on my forehead, and my heart pound thunderously against my ribcage as Edward's simple button-up, Alice's warm-toned sweater, and Aro's Volturi-crest pendant filled my vision.

But when my observing gaze ascended further, I was shocked to discover that all the marble-esque necks of the three were still firmly connected to their heads, and Edward's fiercely scowling face was completely intact.

Aro's hand still hovered menacingly above the younger vampire's head, but had came to an abrupt standstill, the tawny locks of Edward's spikey hair barely tickling his skin, and his head was turned on his neck to face me, his brows quirked in curiosity. "Even after all the pain he has caused you, you do not want to see him perish," His tone was perplexed, and yet awestruck, as though my consideration for Edward's life in spite of the immense hurt he had caused me was a truly miraculous thing. Gradually Aro's hand fell to his side, before he glided closer. "Why is that?" he queried, the astonishing level of his intrigue clearly evident in his penetrating, inquisitive gaze—which sent a delightful shiver racing down my spine at his intense interest coupled with increased proximity.

I swallowed nervously. _What did he want me to say?_ It was impossible to predict the unfathomably long-lived vampire, as his overall demeanor was polished and cerebral, but his moods constantly fluctuated, transforming him from an impeccable gentleman to a manic observer to a ruthless executioner in a matter of minutes. He had expressed profound interest in some "super power" I unknowingly possessed, but he had also suggested to Edward that it had been a waste that he had not killed me for my blood. I had absolutely no idea what he believed would be an acceptable answer, and what could possibly trigger his unstoppable fury, and lead to my own rapid disposal.

Without a clear understanding of his personality I did the only thing I knew how to do in situations like these.

I settled on telling the truth.

"Because I know that he's a good person," I responded resolutely, pleased to find that, despite the enormous pressure I felt, my tone was steady and unwavering. "Even though he lied to me and broke my heart, he did tell me the truth about one thing—he can't stand the idea of hurting anyone innocent, and I can't stand that either" I explained confidently, flickering a glance over at Edward, whose oppressively gloomy expression had turned shocked at my admission, before watching Aro very closely for his reaction.

Aro seemed to consider my response for a moment, his long, thin fingers idly tapping his chin, and his eyes drifting to the tall rectangular windows several stories above, before he resumed his blazing scrutiny of my person and began to speak. "Ah, so you must believe the rest of us," he swept an arm out in a grand gesture toward the rest of the vampires in the room "to be soulless… monsters…" he concluded, his eyes paradoxically darkening with increasing thirst and bright with undisguised interest as he surveyed my stalwart form.

"No… not soulless," I replied firmly—I absolutely refused to believe anything else, even though Carlisle, who I didn't trust very much at the moment, was the originator of the idea. Nothing else made sense. Didn't the fact that Aro and I were having this morally complex discussion prove that he had some sort of conscience? Even if it was a twisted one?

I paused as I tried to phrase my next sentence carefully, so as to not invoke Aro's wrath. Knowing that it was a sensitive topic—or it least it had been between Aro and Carlisle—I wanted to choose the least disrespectful terminology I could think of. I didn't particularly revel in the idea of having my head cruelly sliced in half, or some other equally gruesome method of death by his bare hands.

"But I can't say that I agree with your choice of… _lifestyle_," I said finally, mentally wincing at the notion that I was making the Volturi's habitual murdering sound like something as harmless as preferring rural areas over the city, or expensive French cuisine instead of hamburgers and fries. Certainly even the craziest zealots for political correctness couldn't fault my description for being offensive, however since human life was involved, I wondered if I should have used stronger words instead of being so soft—my safety be damned.

Someone had to stand up for the human race.

Aro's eyes sparkled in amusement and a demented smirk summarily overtook his features at my sensitive choice of words. "And I do not suppose we can simply, ah what is the colloquialism again, 'agree to disagree' on this matter?" he offered pleasantly, my slender brows furrowing in frustration as I realized I had walked straight into that one, and his smirk widening into a positively manic grin. "After all, I have no intention of harming _you_, dear Isabella," he purred seductively, extending a hand toward me in a gracious gesture as I fought with my suddenly raging hormones to stop justifying his behavior for shallow reasons.

"No," I countered determinedly, this time having summoned enough bravery to make a stand, though still warring aggressively with my uncontrollable lust for the ancient vampire. "You can't pick and choose like that," I shook my head strongly, denying his flattering excuses, and pouring every ounce of my willpower into exiling the elation I felt that I was some kind of special exception in Aro's eyes—I should not be happy that others are murdered in my place. "All human life is precious."

"I never said it was not," Aro spoke defensively, spreading a pale hand over his chest as though he was physically wounded by my assumption, the sunlight catching on the whitish-silver chains beneath his dexterous fingers. "Human life is indeed very valuable," he continued with a cordial smile, until he caught my eyes rolling—_of course,_ I thought,_ because you eat them_—which caused his friendly smile to promptly contort into a disappointed frown. "It is _priceless_ even—and not just as sustenance," he asserted, his tone surprisingly serious, as though he truly attributed the lives of 'insignificant mortals' the same value I did. "I have nothing but the utmost appreciation for their sacrifice," Aro spoke solemnly now, reverently even, as if he was deeply indebted to all the humans whose lives he had taken over the thousands of years of his existence, and he even stooped in the slightest of bows to punctuate his statement.

I blinked in total confusion.

When I had heard that the Volturi had "no respect for human life", this was absolutely _not _what I had been expecting. It was apparent, from the vicious actions and condescending behaviors of the other Volturi that I had encountered thus far, that not all shared Aro's appreciative outlook on humanity, but it was earth-shattering enough that _any_ of them thought that way at all. To have such a profound reverence for human life that transcended the tastiness of their blood, despite the fact that he took their lives so frequently was astounding. It didn't excuse anything—simply being appreciative did nothing to change the fact that Aro and the Volturi were murderers—but it was so surprising that I was completely lost for words.

After several extended moments of silence, Aro spoke again, resuming his regal posture and restoring his authoritative air, after his brief display of unnerving humility. "There will be an eternity of time in the future for more discussions of this nature," he declared, as though my imminent vampirism was already set in stone, and I was going to remain in his presence for the rest of my existence—I grimaced at the thought, but was very relieved that it was horribly unlikely, if I had anything to say about it. He did say earlier he wanted my consent, something I would be sure to hold him to when things didn't pan out as he had planned.

"However, I suggest we return to the activity proposed before," he invited politely, a gentle smile gracing his features as he spoke-his etiquette was impeccable as always, his words were perfect, and his tone of voice betrayed no anger or desire to dominate—but it was painfully clear, from the authority he carried in his authoritative stance, in his aristocratic features, and in the way his arm had moved a fraction too quickly when he extended it in my direction to indicate that I was the one being spoken to, that compliance to his whims was not optional. I morbidly considered what might happen if I were to refuse his request, before my self-preservation won out.

"My dear Isabella," he spoke my name so rapturously, as though I was pure divinity, which of course excited the all-too-excitable butterflies in my stomach once again, "it would be my honor to allow you to see for yourself just how greatly you have been deceived."

Edward produced a low, quiet growl in response to the insinuation of his dishonesty, and Aro cast him a warning glance, before his countenance shifted rapidly to convey contempt and mock-sympathy. "It truly is a pity that we will have to… ah, _postpone the festivities_ until a later time," he lamented sarcastically, his white lips twisted into a ridiculing sneer, and his fingertips tapping each other idly in a mesmerizing rhythm. "Although, I must admit…" He mused aloud, his ponderous gaze drifting towards the domed ceiling, appearing to ponder the unexpected benefits of our current situation. "It will be immensely satisfying to see your expression when she denounces you entirely," Aro concluded, his eyes sparkling with a sadistic delight that made me feel simultaneously terrified for my life, and hot all over, as if I had been liberally doused with gasoline, and his feral gaze had set me aflame.

Edward appeared to take this as his cue to shut up, although it was extremely obvious that he was not pleased to do so, as he had his mouth set firmly into a hard line. While I struggled to slow the frantic palpitations of my confused heart, and desperately hoped that my cheeks were not as red as Alice's wine-colored lipstick, I forgot for a moment what we were talking about, and had completely missed analyzing any possible deeper implications of Aro's most recent pronouncement. It didn't strike me until later that Aro was suggesting that I would not only decry everything that Edward had done to me, but also everything that he was—everything that he had lived and died for.

Instead, I was focused on his earlier offer—to let me see for myself the magnitude of the Cullens' betrayal. Judging by the plethora of information I had discovered they had kept from me already, I was terrified by the notion that perhaps we had only begun to scratch the surface of their secrets, but I also needed to know the truth—all of it—badly.

Even if it hurt.

"How are you going to show me—you said, I could see for myself…?" I enquired nervously, my voice trailing off uncertainly into the cool, musty air of the castle turret, and my toes curling anxiously in my soggy tennis shoes.

"Through my memories, of course," he responded as though it was obvious, though his melodious tone lacked the condescension that would have made the statement rude—he simply looked surprised that he had forgotten to inform me.

"You can show me your memories?" I blurted out incredulously, and immediately regretted it—I lost my composure so easily, it was embarrassing compared to Aro's ridiculous unflappability.

"Ah, you see that is my daughters' special gift," he clarified smoothly, gesturing to the twin vampires (at least I was pretty sure they were vampires) beside me, giving their best effort in the difficult task of standing still, which included lots of excited, super-humanly fast fidgeting and making humorous, childish faces at each other when they thought their "father" wasn't looking. _So that's what he meant by "my daughters will assist you" _I realized suddenly.

"Titania can read minds, and Lucretia can transmit her memories into the minds of others," Aro elaborated educationally, with a proud fatherly smile as his protracted arm pointed first to the little alto, and then to her identical soprano sister. "Both of these powers operate much like mine—they require physical contact," he added with a graceful flourish of his wrist, his smile turning sly as if he was aware of some great secret that was particularly ironic in these circumstances. "My daughters also possess a unique mind-link with each other which allows them to communicate when in close proximity."

_So I was right about the mind-link after all, _I thought, pleased with my apt observation skills.

"…and when they touch…" Aro curled his hands around each other demonstratively, his movements fluid and tantalizing, causing my mouth to water as I contemplated what those expert hands would feel like all over me, "they can utilize their powers in tandem by creating a chain of sorts, with Titania reading someone's mind, and transferring those memories to her sister, who can then deposit them in the mind of another."

I paused for a moment to envision what he had just described, imagining Aro's twin girls holding hands in the center of this potent formation, with each using their free hand to touch someone else, creating some strange assembly line of mind-sharing. It appeared, from his candid description, that Aro employed these tiny girls to use this combined power of theirs on a regular basis—which would mean that even those who lacked mind-reading powers could share experiences if Aro wished it. For some unknowable reason I pictured Caius and Marcus on the opposite ends of the telepathic little girls and it caused me to wondered if the twins had ever been used as a team-bonding exercise—before I dismissed the idea as absolutely ludicrous. The Volturi were a coven that seemed to pride itself in austerity, sadism and fortitude—_not_ in playful camaraderie and dorky trust exercises.

Still, the idea of Marcus sharing his feelings of eternal boredom with Caius was simply hilarious—I had to choke back a laugh at my mind's vision of the white-haired vampire's irritated expression and total revulsion towards the experience, while Marcus continued to stare at nothing in particular.

Once I'd composed myself, and apprehensively tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I asked: "So… they want to use this power on me… to show me things that you've seen?"

It was still bizarre to consider that a man who had the power to invade everyone else's privacy would so graciously allow me to invade his—certainly he must know how unnerving it is to share personal experiences in that manner, from the all the thoughts of every mind he had read in his inhumanly long life. Of course, he didn't give the impression that he minded Edward's ability to read his thoughts, or that one of his daughters could—perhaps being constantly surrounded by telepaths of one kind or another had caused him to grow accustomed to lacking any sort of individual confidentiality.

"As well as things that Edward and Carlisle have seen, for I, with my gift, have seen everything which they have seen," Aro answered courteously, sweeping his hand in another of his grand, dramatic gestures towards Edward and towards an empty space beside him which I surmised was intended to represent Carlisle, although he was currently absent.

"That's… a little confusing," I responded, befuddled by all the crazy thought-ception going on here.

"Do not dismay, dear Isabella," Aro reassured me, his voice effortlessly gentle, pleasant and comforting like a warm fleece blanket as he floated forward, bringing his gorgeous face so close to mine that his cool breath blew across my lips and cheeks as he spoke. "Simply know that what you will be seeing will be entirely real, unadulterated by Carlisle's alterations," he soothed, and for some unfathomable reason—most likely something to do with the fact that he was so close and temptingly kissable—I believed him entirely.

"The truth may disturb you," he warned suddenly, ducking his head to whisper chillingly above my neck, a few of his long ebony locks slipping forward and brushing against my collarbone, causing me to involuntarily stiffen at his intimate proximity. "But you must relax, or else the connection may be severed," he exhaled softly, before leisurely lifting his head and surveying my flustered face with a casual smirk, as he glided backwards a couple feet, his robe fluttering slightly against the flagstone.

I chewed on my lip and offered a shaky nod—I wasn't really sure that relaxing was even possible when I was anywhere near that man. Getting hot and bothered was almost a given in his seductive presence, fearing for my life took a close second, as I knew him to be extremely dangerous, and trying to wrap my head around his rapidly warping moods probably came next—but relaxing? That was _not_ going to happen. Not unless he suddenly left the country.

Perceiving my trembling gesture of acquiescence to be an invitation, the two black-haired girls in their iridescent gowns skipped happily over to me, holding one another's tiny hands in a tight grasp, and their wide red-eyes flickered between Aro and myself as they settled quickly into the space between us. The girl I knew to be named Lucretia, with the higher-pitched voice and the overall sunnier demeanor extended her chubby little arm with her palm facing upwards, her complexion alight with expectation that I take it. The gesture was such a close mimicry Aro's earlier incitement to seize his hand that it startled me—it was clear that this small child deeply loved and revered Aro, for she was even attempting to pull off his contradictingly polite and commanding air… without success. Instead she just looked unsettlingly ecstatic.

Trying not to panic, despite the bright ruby eyes and huge toothy grin that were fixated on me, I slowly lowered my hand into hers, gasping as the iciness of her petite fingers bit through the warmth of my much larger hand. She ignored my reaction, still beaming like a maniac while she eagerly twisted her head over her shoulder to watch her sister hesitantly place her little hand in Aro's—which dwarfed hers to an even greater degree, although they were probably the same temperature.

As soon as their hands touched the chain was complete, and I felt a dizzying rush, like a surge of electricity, pass from Aro's sturdy frame into young Titania, then through the small hands of both girls firmly interlocked in the middle into Lucretia, who passed the current to me. I squeezed my eyes forcefully shut in anticipation of a painful and intrusive impact, and my knuckles whitened as my grip on Lucretia's unyielding little hand unwillingly grew somewhat tighter.

But I felt nothing.

The only indication I had that anything had happened was that Lucretia was suddenly wriggling desperately in my grip, as though terrified and trying to escape. As soon as my sluggish human brain finally registered what was going on, I promptly released her and opened my eyes. Lucretia had fallen to the ground and was quivering violently, her large round eyes brimming with unmasked fear, and her little hands holding her head on both sides the way one would cradle a serious injury. At first I thought that she had hit her head when she fell and was about to apologize profusely for whatever I had unknowingly done when I was interrupted by Titania.

"Father, it seems that we cannot show her," Titania observed gravely, her somber expression adding years to her appearance, but her juvenility still manifesting in a small hand clutching at Aro's luxurious robes, in a silent petition for protection. "There is a barrier," she continued slowly, and I was impressed that she managed to keep her tone steady, despite her evident, though still mystifying, state of alarm. "The human is afraid that we will hurt her mind and has called her shield to protect her," she declared finally, before succumbing to her repressed immaturity and burying her head in the silky black cloth that hung form Aro's hips.

"Did I… did I do something wrong?" I stammered out quickly, taking a clumsy step backwards from where Lucretia was still lying on the floor, shivering in apparent terror. "Is she going to be okay?" I asked, sending a short glance towards the little vampire at my feet before my eyes refocused on Aro and Titania, whose expressions were both completely unreadable at the moment—Titania's because her face was covered in long hair and expensive fabric, and Aro's because although his eyes were wide, it was impossible to tell whether the surprise which colored his features was a positive or negative surprise.

Judging by the pain and fear I had unwittingly inflicted on one of his precious daughters, I supposed it was probably negative.

"Is there anything I can…? Should I just…? Am I in tro—" I was frantic now. _I didn't mean it I swear! Whatever happened was not my fault, she just… randomly collapsed—it wasn't me! Oh god, what is happening? I'm going to die, at the hands of the Volturi, for something that I didn't do to one of Aro's little princesses. I'm so sorry! Please don't kill me! _

Aro held up a forbidding hand, his alabaster palm flat and facing me, with a dark tumultuous look in his eyes, which made me want to gulp. "Hush," he commanded tersely, and I froze at the unprecedented iciness in his tone—Aro was _not_ pleased with the recent turn of events, and that didn't bode well for me, the hapless mortal.

Once he was convinced that I would remain silent for the time being, Aro flitted over to Lucretia's side, leaving Titania grasping pitifully at air for her safety, and scooped the quaking little girl near my feet up in his strong arms. He brought her gently into his chest and cradled her compassionately in his arms as he stood with his back to me, striking a powerful black silhouette against the sienna walls.

All the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I realized, probably too late, that Aro was worse than a momma bear, and I would be lucky if killing me was all he did. At least for the moment, he was so enraptured by soothing the hopelessly distraught creature in his arms, in tones too low for me to hear, that he paid me no mind. Whatever Aro was saying to her, as his pale lips moved to make sounds silent to my insufficient ears, seemed to ease her fears, and she gradually began to still. When Lucretia completely ceased rocking unhappily in her father's gentle embrace, and Aro slowly helped her back on her feet.

I thought I was done for—however I was shocked to find that as his eyes rested on my fear-frozen form that they were full of concern.

For me—the one who had apparently hurt his daughter.

I was so confused.

Aro released a regretful sigh, and wrapped a single hand into a tight fist, which shook slightly in the air near his chest, as though he was cursing himself for his lack of foresight in regards to the most recent events. "I knew that there was a possibility..." he conceded, his rich tenor voice penitent and his arms barely outstretching as if to illustrate how far-fetched he had supposed that possibility was, "with your immunity to Edward's mind reading, and, to Carlisle's powers," he revealed suddenly, causing me to gasp as I realized that meant that my memories were thankfully intact, but only because I had forcibly kept Carlisle out when he attempted to alter something—which Aro must have seen through Edward's memories. "But I never could have envisioned that your power, in its human state, could cause such painful effects in response to such a... innocuous incursion," he admitted finally with a bewildered, and startlingly quick shake of his head—evidently carried out involuntarily, as it was not dampered to a human speed.

I gasped—although I couldn't be certain, Aro's words suggested that I was immune to Lucretia's powers, in a similar manner to the way I was to Edward's and apparently Carlisle's and somehow this resistance of mine had forced the happy little girl out of my mind, rather violently judging by her upsettingly distressed reaction. I didn't know I could do something like that, and it seemed that even the all-knowing Aro was somewhat surprised by it as well, though he seemed more astonished by the fact that I had unwittingly wounded his precious little girl—whom he believed to be too innocent for me to harm—rather than the fact that I was strangely immune to her gifts. And even if she wasn't as innocent as her father thought, it wasn't like I had meant to hurt her, either way.

_Was this was Aro had meant when he mentioned that I had "abilities" which he wanted to see "fully-realized" when I was transformed into a vampire?_ I considered, stunned by the very real possibility. _Do I have some kind of super-mind-blocking powers that painfully eject everyone who try to invade my mind? Did this "power" extend to every vampire with mental_ abilities, _or only Edward and the twins?_ I wondered, unable to believe that silly old me could potentially possess something so powerful.

"I suppose..." Aro spoke suddenly, his tone contemplative and his thin, pallid fingers drumming lightly against his chin as he paced back and forth unhurriedly across the beige stone floor, lost in his analytical thoughts. "…this also means that you are invulnerable to my powers as well," he concluded as he came to an abrupt halt, and stared deeply into his upturned palms, as though mulling over the many ramifications of having his tactile telepathy rendered unusable in my presence. His eyes were filled with curious awe, and for a brief moment I thought I saw an emotion akin to joyous relief flicker across them, before it was swiftly supplanted by a serious expression.

"However that is a theory we will have to test later," he declared, raising a single forbidding hand to suggest that the matter was not up for debate—although I sensed this statement was directed primarily at himself, to tell himself that he needed to reign in his insatiable curiosity for my benefit for the time being. That he was willing to respect my previously conveyed desire for mental privacy from his interfering talents, even after I had betrayed his trust by somehow damaging his "daughter" with my mind, was astounding.

"I'm sorry that I'm such a freak," I sorrowfully apologized, turning my coiling toes inward in embarrassment, and bowing my head sharply to demonstrate my profound regret.

"No, Isabella, I assure you that you are nothing of the sort," Aro placated musically, drifting close enough to my apologetic form offer a sincere, comforting look, but remaining distant enough to be out of arm's reach. "To have a mental shield so powerful already in your mortal state is practically unheard of," he explained, his eyes practically glowing with wonder, and his smooth lips parted slightly in surprise, as he stretched his luxurious black-sleeved arms out to their full length at his sides, as if to demonstrate how far and wide he had scoured the earth for such a rare and valuable thing.

"When you become one of us…" he trailed off in euphoric wonder, bringing two hands to his lips in a gesture halfway between offering a prayer of thanks to whatever being brought me into existence, and restraining a squeal of fanboyish glee, "I cannot even begin to imagine how exceptionally powerful you will be. Truly it will be magnificent to behold," he rhapsodized, releasing his hands from their position over his mouth and raising them skyward in another sacral-like motion.

I was incredibly disturbed by how worshipful this ridiculously powerful vampire was of me—it seemed entirely unfounded, and thus I rationalized that it was probably a ploy of extreme flattery to contrive me into becoming another ornate figure on his chessboard. Although I was fairly well assured at this point I would be a significantly powerful piece, rather than simply a disposable pawn, the idea of being reduced to any sort of trinket for the use of another was unpalatable to my fiercely independent sensibilities. I was not a prize, or a toy, or a weapon.

I was Isabella Swan. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Or just really inconvenient," I argued casually, in a, probably futile, attempt to mitigate Aro's maniacal collector's enthusiasm. My power wasn't really all that helpful if it was preventing me from learning whatever it was that the ancient vampire insisted I must know in order to determine if I was "ready."

"Not necessarily, I do not suppose you have tried to… control your gift?" Aro enquired neutrally, despite the fact that he seemed to already know the answer was no, the swirling embroidery on his cuffs coming into sharp relief, and the flawless skin on his hands tossing rainbow flecks of light in every direction as the sunlight shifted angles, and one of the warm rectangles the high windows cast on the floor encroached on his person.

"Well, um, no. I mean, I didn't even realize I had one really. I just thought it was… some kind of weird anomaly," I admitted honestly, absent-mindedly rubbing the almost completely dry sleeve of my left arm, still feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the uncanny fact that it had been broken not too long ago and was now perfectly healed.

"That is… unfortunate," Aro sighed dejectedly—despite his inordinately high praise, it seemed that my super powers were throwing an enormous wrench in his plans, something which I was simultaneously very pleased with (as it lessened the alarming prospect of me being used), and extremely disappointed in (as it prevented me from seeing the truth for myself, and lessened my greatness in Aro's eyes). Although my uncontrollable lust for the man had quieted some, in the ensuing madness after our recent effort to share memories, I still harbored a noxious desire to be something uniquely special to him. Why I would want such a thing I couldn't rationally say—except that perhaps it meant he might develop a more than academic interest in me. And _maybe_ that interest could be expressed in the form of sizzling physical passion.

"You do not suppose you could… say, picture the barrier in your mind, and remove it from yourself for a moment?" he suggested carefully, tilting a single thin eyebrow and a palm upward in a questioning manner, and shaking me immediately out of my fleetingly sexual thoughts.

"Is that… is that even possible?" I stammered in utter surprise.

_Wait—he thinks I can overcome this? _I thought dubiously. _That somehow we can bypass my crazy defensive instincts and let his daughters probe my brain? Do I even want that? I mean… it might be the only way I can get to the bottom of all this insanity, but is it really worth it? And even if it is—which is a huge if—is it really that easy? _

"As I am sure you are aware, I have lived for a very long time," he began, his tone gentle and expositional, and I noticed Caius elicit an audible groan and theatrically roll his darkening eyes, clearly frustrated that Aro was dragging his explanation out, and thus delaying the white-haired vampire's all-important meal. Aro however, despite his eyes own increasing blackness, paid him no mind and continued placidly relating his life's tale.

"…and in all those years I have never met a person with a defensive power who was unable to divert it from themselves," Aro confessed simply, his steely gaze flickering over to several of the vampires clustered anxiously around the edges of the room, whom I assumed to be some of the carriers of defensive powers he was talking about. "It takes a great deal of concentration," he stipulated sternly, with a cautionary finger wagging distractingly in my direction, warning me off the dangerous assumption that turning off my power would be easy, "but it is certainly possible."

I nodded numbly. For some inexplicable reason I trusted Aro—at least more than I trusted Edward, or anyone else at the moment—and so I inhaled slowly, letting the curative oxygen seep all the way down in the deep recesses of my lungs, rolled away the accumulated tension in my stiff shoulders, and gave my best attempt to calm down. As the increased air inflow flooded my body with immediate relief, I concentrated on what I imagined as my mental barrier, picturing a red, glowing veil completely encapsulating my brain, and focused on pushing it gradually outwards.

It was strange to try to move something that wasn't physically a part of me—however my efforts were suddenly rewarded as I felt something miniscule shift inside me, like a security blanket had been lifted away from me in the middle of a horrendous blizzard and I was now completely exposed. Terrified by the unexpected sensation, I lost focus, and the barrier snapped right back into place, pulsing angrily and stronger than ever before, refusing to budge at my gentle nudging. It seemed that my shield, or whatever it was called, did not respond well to being relocated outside of my mind—but I absolutely refused to give up.

I chewed on my lower lip as I struggled to wrestle my internal protection away from me, and fought back the fearful thundering of my heart with reassuring mantras—_it'll be okay Bella, It'll be okay, you're just trying to open your mind. Nothing really scary. You'll be fine. Everything is going to be _just_ fine… _I didn't really believe it—not one bit—but I found myself relaxing substantially, and my stubborn barrier once again began to depart from its equally stubborn possessor. The scary sensation of being entirely vulnerable washed over me once again, but instead of losing my concentration, I willed myself to feel content with it—to wholeheartedly accept it, as though the clotheless-in-public feeling the loss of my mental barrier generated was an average everyday occurrence.

And yet, in my extreme determination, I managed to find a modicum of tranquility in that disturbing feeling, because I knew that this was the only way. It was plainly evident now that if I wanted to know the truth, I needed to overcome my greatest fear.

I needed to be at ease with the one thing that perturbed me above all else—the invasion of my mind.


	8. Chapter 7: Ancient Sewer Raid

**AN: mid-way through there is a perspective shift, of sorts. I hope that I can successfully convey whose thoughts are whose, with all the crazy thought-ception going on here (thoughts within thoughts) and not confuse too many people. There will be several "I"s and "me"s, which, if I think its ambiguous, or its switching around, I'll identify who the "I" is by saying "I, Bella," or something similar. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Ancient Sewer Raid<strong>

I wasn't precisely sure how long I had been practicing removing my mental barrier when Caius suddenly rose from his chair, for the third time since his initial settling upon it, his long cape pooling darkly around his ankles, and his indomitable figure hardening into a powerful upright stance as he bellowed furiously "Aro! Enough of this! Surely you can see that dinner cannot wait much longer!?" he shrieked, his teeth snapping angrily as he pointed two paper-white fingers forcefully in the direction of his own rapidly darkening eyes. "If you continue this agonizing conversation any longer, I will be given no choice but to consume her myself!" he threatened finally, striding purposefully across the stone floor in my direction, black fabric rippling dangerously behind him as he sauntered predatorily forward, his angelic countenance perverted with demonic rage.

I gasped in terror, forgetting entirely about staving off my internal shield, and nearly tripped over myself in a vain attempt to distance myself from his impending approach. Caius' expression was positively demented as he stalked closer—seething with uncontrollable thirst, his tongue darting out to enthusiastically lick his teeth, which were glistening with large drops of venom—and his hands drew upwards, flexing spasmodically in anticipation of the kill. And as each of his impossibly long strides brought him nearer, I felt like I was going to faint from sheer horror.

There was a flicker of black across my vision, and for a second I believed that it was the first signs of losing consciousness, until I realized that it had been Aro flitting in front of my eyes at lightning-speed, throwing himself bodily between myself and Caius. While his long ebony locks were still tossing in the wake of his rapid movements, Aro shoved a single palm unforgivingly against his brother's broad chest, and pushed back with inhuman strength, forcing the ravenous, snowy-haired vampire to immediately halt in his tracks.

"You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing," Aro bit out with clenched teeth, and a deep, rumbling growl bubbled out of his throat, clearly asserting his dominance over the other vampire and his right to dismember Caius if he persisted in his foolhardy attempt to satisfy his appetite. "Patience my brother," Aro commanded, his tone acidic with displeasure, and his refined black eyebrows curving sharply into a "v" over his glittering ruby eyes, "she is nearly ready for me to show her the truth, and once she knows, _then_ we shall dine."

Caius made no indication that heard, or cared for Aro's statement, but instead his wide maroon eyes followed my every twitch and shiver with rapt intensity. While Caius had surveyed me as potential food earlier—before Aro's introduction of his daughters—he had then been rather easily persuaded to return to his throne. Judging by the fierce expression he now wore, I sincerely doubted he would be swayed so peacefully this time.

Aro also appeared to recognize that Caius was beyond reasoning with, and the black-haired vampire's muscles contracted in preparation for initiating battle, before they abruptly relaxed, and a look a humored contentment crossed his features, as though he had suddenly thought of something terribly amusing—perhaps a hilarious alternative to fighting.

"Marcus, restrain him," Aro demanded without warning.

Marcus looked utterly surprised at being so unexpectedly addressed, let alone being asked to do something so entirely outside of his habitual skill set, and blinked in total incomprehension. His confused face seemed to say: _You're not serious are you? You're asking what? Restrain Caius? Me?_ and his pale mouth slid open partially, as though struggling to articulate a protest. Before any sound could make it out of Marcus' bewildered lips,a short black-haired woman clad in a silky off-the-shoulder gown stepped forward from the crowd lingering against the bright sienna walls, and moved to speak—perhaps to offer her assistance instead—but Caius cut them both off.

"That will not be necessary," he snorted derisively with his face scrunching in extreme distaste, clearly offended by Aro's insinuation that someone as lackadaisical as Marcus would actually be capable of performing the task, "I will lure one of the stragglers into another room and consume them silently," he declared finally, taking a step back from Aro's hand, and began strolling purposefully in the opposite direction, moving swiftly across the stones with the deadly grace of a tiger towards the unadorned wooden door through which Edward, Alice and I had entered this underground castle turret. "I cannot wait upon your whims any longer."

Aro lowered his hand, pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in evident frustration and sighed. "Are there any others who cannot contain their thirst who wish to follow Caius?" he asked the room congenially, spreading his arms wide and twirling in a gradual circle to face every vampire in the vicinity, to clarify that everyone who shared Caius' feelings was perfectly free to follow in his suit without fear of punishment.

A few hooded figures exchanged glances surreptitiously, before they summarily broke from the crowd and filed quickly out of the slim entry door in a short line trailing behind Caius—however the majority of the vampires in the room remained firmly in place, even as the wooden door was shut with a wrathful _slam_. Despite the prolonged delay of their scheduled meal, most of the vampires decided to forgo the option of obtaining their food immediately, probably in order to appear more loyal to Aro.

I felt slightly guilty for the commotion—as it was my presence here which had prevented all of these hungry vampires from eating earlier—but I cringed as I remembered that "dinner" wasn't fish and chips, but instead was a crowd of innocent tourists circling around the fortress at this very moment, oblivious to the cruel fate which awaited them. Caius, and presumably the other vampires who had followed him, had left to lure away "stragglers" from the group and… _ "consume them silently"._ The way he had spoken about these unfortunate human beings was so jarringly different than Aro's humble insistence that he had the "utmost appreciation for their sacrifice," it shook me.

It finally dawned on me that human beings were going to be brutally murdered in this very building, while I was still in it. I felt dirty just by being here—how many had died in these very halls, having been led into these unreachable depths by false pretenses, and at last horrifically devoured while writhing in fiery agony from the venom burning in their blood? How many human screams had echoed off these walls, desperate for an escape they would never obtain? How many drops of warm crimson blood had splashed across these floors, from countless throats being savagely torn into with blunt, gleaming teeth? Although I wasn't the best at mental math, I knew that even if the Volturi only fed biannually (which was extremely unlikely) the number of humans slaughtered here over the several millennia of their existence would be in the hundreds of thousands, and if they ate as frequently as Edward did—roughly once every two weeks—the body count would be in the millions.

I fought hard to choke down the bile rising in my throat.

My face must have looked as sickeningly green as I felt, because Aro's next words were sorrowful and sympathetic, "I understand that you feel a kinship with those Caius seeks, as a fellow human," he empathized sadly, clasping his hands together near his heart with a deeply remorseful look shining in his dark red eyes. "I cannot apologize for what is about to happen. It is simply a part of our nature," he amended quickly, in order to clarify that he felt absolutely no remorse for the horrific deaths about to occur, though there was still a deep understanding look in his eyes—as though he fully comprehended the magnitude of the suffering he was causing, and accepted it completely for what it was. "The only consolation I can offer is that I will never allow you to become like them—that is, as long as I still exist, I will not allow you to become food," he offered smoothly, his tone laced with possessive protectiveness as he extended his hand in what I supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture.

Instead, I was disgusted. The fact that I wasn't going to be eaten today, while certainly something I was extremely grateful for, was ultimately beside the point. The principle, that the Volturi believed they had the right to determine the intrinsic worth of some human beings to be greater than others, was what upset me. No one had that right.

"Their fate is already decided," Aro continued gravely, with a slight shrug, as though the tourists' ultimate demise was already out of his hands, despite the fact that, for the moment they were all still breathing—well, unless Caius had already got to them. "It was decided from the moment they met Heidi, the bait who lured them here."

_She must have been the woman with mahogany hair I saw leading the tour group,_ I observed.

"They will serve to sustain us." He spoke this sentence as a statement of incontestable fact, like one would say "the sun is a star" or "the human body is 70% water," as though there was nothing which stood on earth or in heaven which could prevent the hapless tourists from becoming the evening meal—as though it was already history. I chewed on my lip, distressed by the knowledge that there really wasn't anything I could do about it either—seeing Caius' reaction to having been delayed his access to much needed sustenance, I had no doubts that if I attempted to interfere any more than I already had, I would quickly become the replacement food, no matter what Aro might try to do to protect me. Although I was fairly certain that he was perfectly capable of slaughtering several of the vampires who were foolish enough to charge at me first, even his supernatural strength and ancient wisdom didn't stand a chance against a room full of thirty-plus enraged vampires converging on him.

I didn't like it—not in the slightest—but I would have to live with keeping quiet in this situation, as I didn't want to cause even more deaths by possibly starting a war between Aro and the rest of his ravenous guard. Nobody should have to die because of me—human or vampire.

"But do not despair, dearest Isabella," Aro placated, his silky voice rolling musically over the syllables with effortless grace, "for you will rise above them and join us," he finished, raising a single hand upwards to signify my impending ascent into immortality, his eyes following the marble-white fingers as they rose and passed into a shaft of sunlight, his prismatic skin glittering in a dazzling display—until those same burgundy eyes suddenly snapped back down on me, eagerly awaiting my response, though his hand was still held dramatically aloft.

"I'll never be like that," I insisted, balling my small hands tightly into impotent fists, and unconsciously placing my legs apart in a powerful stance, the scratchy denim fabric of my jeans stretching and creasing as I shifted positions. "I won't… I won't kill humans," I clarified, to reiterate that it was still my greatest desire to become a vampire, but that I also absolutely refused to give up my peaceful consideration for the mortals I had come from.

Aro smiled knowingly at my bold declaration, but said nothing. I hated that he seemed convinced that I would totally abandon everything I believed in and become a heartless murderer virtually overnight—but what distressed me even more, is that he acted as though the crucial information his daughters would share with me would be the source of this radical paradigm shift. I sincerely doubted that there was anything I could experience which could lead me to justify callous termination of innocent human life, but Aro's confidence in the persuasive power of the memories he wanted to share with me was unnerving to say the least.

After a strained moment, Aro dropped his hand back into the shade and rapidly turned to his darling little soprano. "Lucretia, are you willing to try again?" he sang in an adoring, gently pleading tone, inclining his head down to look her sincerely in the eyes, and stooping slightly so as to appear somewhat less imposing. "Dearest Isabella truly did not intend for any harm to befall you, and she has learned to subdue her shield," Aro asserted comfortingly, placing a single hand on his "daughter's" tiny shoulder and even bending further to place a single knee on the ground.

It was startling to see the leader of the Volturi in such a humble pose—the vulnerability he was willing to display around his daughters was truly astounding, but it was likely that all the other vampires in the room were equally enamored with the little girls and would never hurt them to usurp power from Aro. I wouldn't be surprised—immortality, coupled with their adorable youth was a potent combination, and I wholeheartedly believed that even the most ruthless of vampires would have difficulty harming them.

Lucretia swayed her chubby clasped hands nervously, and refused to look into Aro's eyes, her little head pointed towards her shuffling feet, which shifted her weight back and forth anxiously, causing the many layers of her dress to swish and billow like a miniature dust devil was rustling around her. She clearly had been shaken up by being rejected by my mental barrier, and was not thrilled with the prospect of possibly facing that again.

"I'm still not confident…" I protested, certain that if I were to mess up again—which was very likely, given the overload of ambient tension in the room—that the pain I would inadvertently cause his daughter would not be so easily forgiven this time.

Aro abruptly interrupted me, though it wasn't immediately apparent why, because I could only see the back of his head, as his eyes never left his hesitant little girl, "She _will_ keep her barrier away as you show her what she needs to see," he promised firmly, giving her ruffled shoulder an affectionate squeeze, before rising slowly to his feet, assuming his full, daunting height and sending an ice-cold glare in my direction, which seemed to indicate that I had no choice in this matter.

I swallowed—okay, no pressure…

Lucretia gradually lifted her head, and her round ruby eyes danced uncertainly between Aro and me for a few seconds—taking in my wildly uncertain expression, and Aro's serene gaze of paternal confidence, my nervous fingers running through my drying brown hair, and Aro's placidly clasped hands—before she completely ceased her anxious fidgeting. I watched, amazed, as she gave a single, firm nod, and spoke adamantly, with a slight outward puff of her chest, and a resolutely determined countenance, "I'll do it."

I was impressed with her bravery, and her devotion—it seemed she would do practically anything for Aro, no matter how potentially masochistic.

I swallowed thickly—I don't want to mess up again, but I don't particularly trust my abilities, given that I've only had a few minutes at best to practice them. I'm dying to know the truth—preferably as soon as possible—and yet, simultaneously I wish that our imminent memory-sharing could be postponed until I was more confident in controlling my "gift." I had absolutely no desire to inflict any harm on either of the adorable twin vampires, not to mention face the terrifying wrath of their father.

Aro, sensing my distress, spoke soothingly, as his identical daughters moved to grasp hands, and Titania gently lowered her tiny hand into Aro's and gripped it fiercely—a white-knuckled supplication for defense against the effects of my untrained powers. "Focus, my Isabella, and the truth will be yours."

_Focus, and the truth will be mine_, I repeated to myself. _The truth _will_ be mine._ That's what I wanted right?

I tenaciously hold onto his reassurance, take an elongated deep breath in an attempt to relax, and casually roll away the tension in my shoulders and knees from standing ramrod still for so long. Inhaling again, I prepare to push my mental barrier away, and it lifts up from its clinched hold on my mind with surprising ease as I work to sustain level breathing, and focus intently on feeling at peace, despite the ticklish probing sensation that washes over me. I shut my eyes in calm concentration and delicately press the red veil in my mind's eye out even further, so that it is drifting lazily several feet away from the twins, Aro and I. Just to be absolutely certain that there will be no unforeseen complications, I cautiously press against the swirling veil in its new location, testing its firmness in remaining at its temporary residence outside of my brain.

I am pleasantly surprised when I feel the barrier push back unyieldingly, rather stable despite its detachment from me.

Without opening my eyes, I give a slow nod—a silent signal that I am ready to attempt our mind-sharing chain once again, so that at last I can finally discover everything that I was never intended to be told. I felt a tiny hand slide across my sweaty palm, grasping it hesitantly, and I keep tabs on my detached barrier, making sure that it remains totally stationary as a familiar electrical surge passes through the mental chain—originating from Aro's daunting figure, passing through young, trepidation-filled Titania, through the twin's firmly linked hands, into confident Lucretia, and finally passes through our interlocked hands into me.

There was a rushing feeling, like being thrust violently into a high-velocity wind tunnel, and I watched in disbelieving fascination as the sienna walls and stone floors melted away from my vision and were replaced with the dark shapes and putrid smells of an ancient sewer system. For a horrifying moment I supposed I had been transported back into the sewers through which Edward, Alice and I had traversed to reach the heart of the Volturi fortress, until I looked down and realized that the pale, masculine hands which moved in response to my thoughts were not my own. They looked human enough, despite the fact that I couldn't be certain given their pallor and the complete lack of sunlight in this dingy catacomb, so I didn't recognize them at first.

It wasn't until I caught my cloudy reflection in the pools of disgusting polluted water—a tall frame, old-fashioned trousers and a frilly white shirt, short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes—that I realized what was going on.

I was in Carlisle's body—no… I was in his memories.

...

The sensation of being in a completely different body was certainly alien, but not as horribly uncomfortable as I would have assumed it would be—it was predictably disorienting to have thicker, more muscular legs and larger, rougher hands, but as I was experiencing his memories, and not simply spiritually displaced into his body, they moved unencumbered with natural ease. My hair was shorter, and thus no longer whipped around me, caressing my collarbones and shoulder-blades as I moved, but as I came to understand where I was, and where I was headed in this horridly dank tunnel, I was extremely grateful that there was no long hair to obstruct my visibility.

I was also taller, so my vantage point was higher than I was accustomed to, and my eyesight was surprisingly sharp despite the darkness which engulfed me, but otherwise, I felt no substantial difference. No, although it was certainly a little bizarre to consider that I, a woman, was now effectively housed in a biologically male body, and that it was _Carlisle's_ of all people, the strangest thing about experiencing Carlisle's memories was not the physical aspect. Far more uneasiness was generated by the fact that I wasn't reacting to my immediate surrounding me the way that I normally would, but instead, every thought, every motivation, every rationalization, and every decision which surfaced from my brain reflected a pattern of thinking that was distinctly Carlisle's.

I felt the harsh sting of his troubled conscience as he struggled with difficult ethical dilemmas, his unwavering faith in his religious beliefs despite all opposition, and his profound determination to abide by his morals, no matter the impracticality or personal inconvenience. I experienced the deep analytical processes which occurred in his mind, surveying everything his sharp senses presented with carefully, meticulously, in order to be absolutely certain that the next step forward was the right one. And I also felt his emotions—the deep, unconditional love for everyone around me, irrespective of the fact that many were spiteful, or lecherous, or crass, or hypocrites, or liars, or cheaters, or thieves…

…or even murderers.

I was woefully upset by their choices, so much so that it was very nearly physically painful, but it surprised me, Bella, that I, Carlisle, could summon no wrath to hate them—the most condescending I could manage was pity. I had assumed, with such an intense personal intolerance for what I regarded as sin that I would be overflowing with contempt for any individual who possessed the slightest of character flaws, but, while I had certainly seen others (both in my own memories and in Carlisle's) who appeared to feel this way, I was surprised by the unfathomable sorrow which blossomed in my heart instead.

I sorrowed deeply for their misconceptions that they could obtain happiness through devilish means—which was, at best a sadomasochistic fantasy, and at worst, a ploy to corrupt the pure and innocent—and inwardly wept over the horrid consequences they would suffer, both in this life, and in the next. Furthermore, I was stricken with grief for the torment of their souls, that is, for the miserable agony their consciences must endure on a daily basis in response to their terrible deeds, and for the fact that they had to live with themselves as monsters, somehow.

I felt empathetically sick, because it was simply unfathomable to me, Carlisle, that someone could want to exist like that.

As Bella, I understood that not everyone's conscience was as hyperactive as Carlisle's because while mine was hardly weak, it was nothing compared to his, and a weaker conscience was one of the ways that others coped with committing hideous crimes. But as Carlisle, I wholeheartedly believed that when others committed crimes, they felt the same heart-stinging that I did—the same guilt and unbearable pain of the spirit, though enlarged an hundred-fold because of the greater magnitude of their crimes—and simply relentlessly drowned it out with a distracting and intoxicating concoction of sadism and hedonism. But the guilt would always be there, lurking under the façade of animalistic pleasure. I was unable to imagine that the same unwavering sense of right and wrong was not a trait shared by all humanity—for I had possessed it for as long as I could remember.

And while these were hardly unexpected feelings, having known that a strong conscience was an integral part of Carlisle's personality since I first got to know him, it was much more shocking to be fully immersed in these things for myself, because now every deed of Carlisle's of which I had knowledge of made absolute perfect sense. It stunned me, Bella, that I could now say, after all of about two seconds in his body, that I understood Carlisle's motivations perfectly. It even more baffling that I was receiving this effect somewhat secondhand, as my experiences as Carlisle had been obtained through Aro's gift and were being transferred to me through his daughters.

But what else should I have expected from Aro's abilities? Thoughts weren't simply words which echo in someone's mind which mind-readers can "hear" as though they were spoken words, distant, third party perspective images which mind-readers can "see" as though it was a movie playing before their eyes. Every sensory input could be counted as a thought—and that meant that what I was now experiencing wasn't just outside observation of events, but full-submersion into another being.

Which meant that, for the moment, I was no longer me.

Although deep in the recesses of my mind, which was left behind in the Volturi fortress, I retained my memories, and my motor-capabilities, I had virtually no access to either because right now, I wasn't Isabella Swan.

I was Carlisle Cullen.

I was trudging through the gloomy chambers of an ancient sewer in the heart of 17th century London.

And I was about to do something extremely reckless.

I stood in the middle of the cramped, nearly lightless tunnel, dank with centuries of pungent rot and decay, with several men flanking me on either side, torchlight from the wooden rods in our hands flickering off the cobbled stone walls, and flashes of silver knives gleaming in the thick, smoky darkness. The shadowy forms of men surrounding me and I moved slowly, as silently as possible across the uneven stonework, around the confusing labyrinth of interconnected passageways, and through the murky puddles of polluted water—not wanting to make even the slightest of unnecessary sounds, lest our enemy, with their bestially keen hearing, be alerted to our approach too soon.

I regarded the faces of the ten men I had chosen to accompany me on this dangerous mission—half stricken with paralyzing fear, and the other half utterly stoic, betraying nothing of their true, less-than-courageous feelings, and I was suffused with unease. Some of the men I had known since childhood and were righteous and just individuals who I easily trusted with my life, and others had simply been persuaded to come along by the prospect of attaining monetary gain from my father—the man who was supposed to be leading this raid, but was indisposed because of his increasing age.

And it was invariably those motivated by earthly rewards, and those with whom I had no friendly relationship, who showed the stalwart courage that I was desperately looking for. My dear friends and the other noble men who had accompanied me without respect towards attaining some small measure of my father's ecclesiastical wealth, were terrified out of their wits—agitated, anxious and clutching their daggers and torches in aggressive positions with white-knuckled grips as we progressed further through the sewer's disgusting channels.

The man on my right, who sported a long, tangled and matted crop of hair and an equally scraggly beard, and who was clad in filthy rags which smelt vaguely of urine, was one of those inspired by greed, and a promised absolution of his prior crimes, rather than justice—nonetheless, his confident posture in spite of the daunting enemy we were approaching, and his quick skill with a knife, born from a life of violence and treachery, would prove invaluable in the moments to come.

It pained me that I would be collaborating with wicked men like him—dishonest, thieving, woman-abusing, man-maiming and even occasionally murderous men—since it seemed to completely defy the whole purpose of this raid: to rid the world of monsters. Nevertheless I was no fool, and understood that if nothing else, the invaluable skills they had attained through their unsavory lifestyles gave us a much higher fighting chance against these diabolically strong beings of the night.

I wondered for a moment, as my black leather boots slipped quietly over the broken pavers and my torchlight flickered ominously, throwing sparse shafts of orange light across the dramatically curved walls, and on a small patch of flooring ahead, if the creatures we were hunting tonight retained any infinitesimal fraction of their past human selves. But almost as immediately as the thought surfaced in my mind, I dismissed it.

Those who killed as frequently and unrepentantly as these creatures did—without the vindications of self-defense or defense of home and country to justify their cause, or even the fallen, mortal motivations of malice or revenge—must be, as my father insisted, soulless monsters. No matter what loving memories or vital knowledge of their past lives they retained, the presence of a truly human heart was wholly impossible, because if they were in possession of such a thing, it would be utterly unable to bear the gruesome violence their natures necessitated if they did. No one, whose heart still trembled at the force of human emotion, could live with themselves like that.

At least, I couldn't. I was absolutely certain that if some circumstances entirely outside of my control compelled me to commit sins that I believed to be as grievous as theirs, that I would destroy myself in utter despair—and I doubted I was alone in that line of thought.

In the end it was pointless to speculate: the deadly creatures living in these sewers were taking human life callously, and I had been sent by my father, with a party of able-bodied men of my own selection, to deliver justice. And in this instance, I was elated that I, with my keen observation skills, had discovered the clandestine location of an actual vampire coven, and could finally destroy the wretched evil plaguing our great city, rather than the pale, recluse innocents my father often brutally executed by mistake.

But I was also terrified—no, I was far beyond that…

It mortified me, that in the coming moments I would have to be ruthless—unforgiving and violent—which was utterly contrary to my gentle, merciful nature, and just thinking about the violent actions I would have to perform made my stomach churn uncomfortably with guilty nausea.

But I would have set aside my scruples for now. Certainly I could bring myself to kill these inhuman abominations—who were damned by their demonic nature to the lowest hell—couldn't I? Simply because they had human faces did not mean they had human hearts.

These beasts needed to be needed to be taken off the face of the earth to protect the innocent men, women and children that would otherwise fall prey to them in the future. They need to be exterminated to protect innocent people like Agatha, the kind elderly woman living in a small derelict cottage down the street on which I resided who had been found bloodless last month, or like Cherise, the angelic little six year girl who had ran away from her abusive, drunkard of a father and met the same fate on her way to her aunt's house only yesterday, or like the countless other innocents whose lives had been meaninglessly snuffed out in the wake of this demonic incursion.

I was doing this for _them. _

My fellow human beings who had lost their lives deserved nothing less.

Suddenly, one of the men on my left stumbled over a lose stone in the floor, obscured from his vision by the thick, cavernous darkness, and was flung forward, landing with a loud, squirting splash in a filthy puddle and releasing an echoing yelp of pain as his outstretched arms and knees collided painfully with the pavement. The men beside him rushed, careful not to fall into the same folly, to silence him as quickly as possible, their faces lit in eerie patterns by the hot flames they carried with them—but it was already too late.

I saw a short, curious figure suddenly appear at the very edge of our torches' range—a young brown-haired boy, appearing no older than three or four years of age, dressed in tattered, bloodstained rags—who eyed us suspiciously, with his head tilted unnervingly to the side, before he began slowly walking towards us with an impassive expression.

"Run!" I yelled, whirling rapidly to face the men who were helping up the man who had tripped—who I now recognized as William Veldon, one of my closest friends since our early childhood. My voice was brimming with urgency and desperation, and my heart beat erratically in my chest as the opportunities to escape the impending danger swiftly slipped away from them.

The men paused in their task, their thick arms still securely wrapped around my friend, and looked at me in stupefied confusion, and then glanced nervously at the young child gradually approaching them, who wore an innocently inquisitive expression, and the men burst into hearty guffaws of laughter. I realized, in horror, that they hadn't seen what I had, in the barest glint of light, and foolishly supposed that this was only a hopelessly lost, but otherwise ordinary child. In mere fractions of a second, as my shaky torchlight had cautiously passed over the young boy's flawless features, I had perceived not only the child's exceptional pallor, but also his unnatural crimson eyes—the only foolproof indicators of vampirism.

I quickly parted my lips to warn everyone in the tunnel of the reality of life-threatening danger a second time, but was stunned speechless when William steadily lighted to his feet, bent to lay his silver knife uselessly against the clammy ground, in a gesture of extremely naïve peace-offering, and directed a small, friendly wave toward the small, though still very lethal creature. There was no time to intervene, not even by those standing amidst the horrifying scene, and not even time to scream, as the small child immediately shot up into the air, wrapped his tiny little arms fiercely around William's neck, and savagely twisted his little head to tear at my friend's throat.

William howled in excruciating agony as the demonic child viciously sunk his teeth in further, and I bellowed out a severely traumatized "No!" as I watched, paralyzed with fear, as my best friend of nearly twenty years was drained dry before my very eyes, unable, in my lethargic mortal state, to do anything whatsoever to prevent his grisly demise.

Before the others had fully comprehended what was transpiring, the child suddenly released William, whose eyes were petrified wide-open in incomprehensible fright, and allowed his limp body to sag to the floor, crumpling into an undignified heap of dry flesh and wet fabric. As the child floated back to the ground, a few droplets of blood sliding viscously over his alabaster lips, he turned his head gradually towards the other humans in the room, and once again inclined his head to that awkward angle, as though surveying them as a possible second course.

Finally shocked into understanding the gravity of our situation, the men who had been surrounding William froze, their spines going ramrod straight, and their hands clenching tightly around their assorted weapons, before they abruptly scattered in chaotic terror. Shrieking crude curses and blasphemous phrases, all but one spun swiftly on their heels, desperately tore down the gloomy sewer passageways back the way we had come, in an attempt to abandon me with the tiny vampire and William's bloodless body.

However, they didn't get very far before more figures, all adults, judging by their imposing height, swept unexpectedly into the putrid corridor from all directions, and stood menacingly in a haphazard circle around us. The figures who surrounded us were all vampires—a fact made obvious by their unnaturally quick movements—and were all dressed in filthy, tattered rags, with disturbingly wide smiles, glistening with venom, and their strong, wiry arms were poised to fight. Their wild, hungry eyes, glowing orange in the torchlight, raked over us, and their battle-prepared sauntering towards us made it agonizingly clear that they weren't going to let us leave.

Before we could process what had transpired enough to begin an attack, two more figures floated into the corridor, who were much better dressed than the rest of the coven. One was male, judging by the broad shoulders which were clearly evident in his pristine button-up shirt, and his unmistakably masculine square jaw, and the other was obviously female, as she wore an extremely low-cut dress of deep red satin, which presented a generous view of her large bosom. They both had long dark brown hair, the same shade as the child's and were both painfully beautiful, and I, Bella, was suddenly extremely grateful that Carlisle was a total saint, because I wasn't sure I could handle him/me mentally appraising a female figure right now—my sexuality while in his body was in enough question as it was.

Instead of being distracted by the sizable mounds of marble-flesh threatening to burst from the female's intentionally tantalizing ensemble, I focused on much more practical matters—like keeping myself alive, despite the fact that my surprisingly loyal companions and I were out-numbered by creatures who possessed strength which far surpassed our own.

The man beside me tensed, gritting his yellowing teeth, and wrapping his hands tightly around the long torch and short knife in his hands as the creatures approached, gliding with effortless grace over the pitted and lumpy cobblestone beneath them, with condescending, though not yet malevolent expressions on their faces. I held my breath as the male came to an abrupt halt near William's lifeless corpse, and cast an unreadable look towards the diminutive vampire who stood beside it, the child's chin still dripping from his last terrifying meal, before wordlessly producing a ratty, extremely stained handkerchief and wiping away the disturbing mess in a jarringly considerate gesture.

After swiftly re-pocketing the repulsive scrap of fabric, the male turned to us, and his scrutinizing, crimson eyes flickered breifly over my fear-frozen form, my right hand tightly clutching a small silver knife at the level of my eyes—determined not strike unless me or my companion were directly threatened—and my left hand shakily grasping the shrinking stub of a torch which was my only light source in this rotten, hellish place. He seemed to assess that none of us were immediate threats, and he suddenly spoke:

"Looks like the Cullens are at it again," he intoned contemptuously, jabbing a pale, accusing finger in my direction as he strode forward, the cloister of vampires surrounding us parting easily around him to allow him passage into the center of the tunnel where I stood—rapidly switching my eyes from vampire to vampire, in order to assess what was the most immediate threat. "Although this time they actually caught the _real_ culprits. Fancy that."

The vampires all broke out in a chorus of bell-like laughter at his cruel, but unfortunately very true statement, and I immediately tensed, furrowing my brows in irritation, and wrapping my damp, salty fingers tighter around the short silver dagger I carried. My father's efforts, although ultimately tragic, had been carried out with good intentions, and I wouldn't stand for them to be so derisively mocked—especially not by the creatures my father had tried tirelessly to destroy.

"I think you'll find, that we are, somewhat more… difficult to subdue than the weak humans your father slaughters," the vampire spoke dryly, his voice laced with dark humor, and a condescending smirk twisting his lips, as he drew even closer. "Though it will certainly be amusing to watch you try," he confessed, as he gently swept his hand underneath my chin, and the ice-cold temperature of his fingers burned against my feverish skin as he gently tilted my head up to meet his.

"I see that you brought a little toy," the vampire remarked amusedly, before he summarily snatched the instrument of which he spoke out of my hands—my precious silver knife—and twirled it idly in the air for a few moments, the metal producing a soft whirring sound as it sliced through the damp air. "Let me show you, what these are capable of," he said unexpectedly, before he abruptly drew back the knife with reserved strength, presumably with the maximum amount of strength a human could obtain, before plunging it downwards into the ivory white skin of his exposed forearm.

I watched in horror as the small knife pressed a slight indentation into his inhumanly pale skin, before literally bouncing off, sailing a few feet in the air, and clattered with a high, chime-like jingle on the damp, odorous floor. The vampire cracked an enormous toothy grin at the sudden unrestrainable fear which arose in me, and the men surrounding me as we realized that our party had never stood a chance against these monstrous beings—their skin was totally impenetrable, like the hardest of diamonds, but sturdier, lacking even diamond's weakness of being very brittle.

Once again, the entire coven of vampires erupted into shrill, merciless laughter—laughter at our naivety in assuming that we possessed weapons sufficient to harm them, laughter at our mortal weaknesses in terms of agility and strength, and laughter at the whole concept of humans presuming to challenge their betters in a gruesome contest of life and death. Their heads sailed backwards as their amusement continued, and some forms even shook, trembling violently from the insurmountable hilarity of it all, and all my companions took a nervous step towards the center of the circle—attempting to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the sneering monsters.

Despite the fact that we now knew them to be virtually useless, the men around me continued to clutch their silver knives tenaciously, and sweep their torches out in front of them to hopefully discourage any immortals from drawing too much closer. Large drops of sweat beaded on our hands and foreheads, slickening our grasp on our paltry defenses, and we—knowing it was absurdly foolish to be the first to attack—waited in stunned silence for their next move.

"No response?" the lead male vampire enquired incredulously, a single dark brown eyebrow quirking reactively to his disbelieving question. "I suppose it matters not," he suddenly conceded with a rapid shake of his head, before his crimson eyes lifted towards the crumbling, rotting ceiling and he stretched his muscular arms forth at his sides, gesturing wildly to the crowd of impatient vampires encompassing us, before exclaiming jubilantly: "Dinner is served!"

And as if on cue, all the vampires descended upon us in a mad frenzy.


	9. Chapter 8: Vegetarian

**AN: This is one of my favorite chapters so far. Newborn!Carlisle is so much fun to write. Of course Human!Carlisle was really fun to write too. He's such a fascinating character-a true saint at heart, and always trying to do the right thing, but often royally screwing up. Poor Guy. **

**Also, heads up, Carlisle is a religious man, so there will be a little talk of damnation and some concepts like that in this, and future chapters. My intention is not to encourage or discourage any religious beliefs, I'm simply trying to stay true to my perception of the characters in every facet I can. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: "Vegetarian"<strong>

Suddenly, all I knew was pain—extreme pain.

It was hot, merciless and excruciating and raged relentlessly in every cell of my body.

_Was I on fire? _I thought incredulously. _I can't remember what happened._

Wearily, I blinked a few times—flashes of blackness jarringly interrupted by lighter, unrecognizable shapes flickering before my foggy vision—and gritted my teeth in pain as I tried to sift through my jumbled, hazy memories in order to ascertain why on earth I was hurting so much. But in my heavily pain-intoxicated state I could only recall tremendously vague, blurry impressions of searing agony, blood, death and fear, and a few fizzling images of inky black coats and gleaming silver knives. Logically, I knew that at some point during the recent, shadowy violence I had lost consciousness and found my way here—wherever here was—but at the moment it was unclear exactly how much time had transpired since then, and it was equally undiscernible whether or not the dark forces that had put me here were still a threat.

I certainly hoped not.

Though I knew absolutely nothing in regards to why I was experiencing this intolerable agony, I was now convinced, after enduring it for a time, that my entire body must be engulfed in flames—for I could think of nothing else which could produce this level of exquisite torture. I gasped involuntarily at the pain which was piercing, sinking through all the clammy layers of my skin, through my thick muscles and I wriggled in violent discomfort as it needled down deep into my very bones. It was also impossibly hot, which caused every surface of my delicate skin to slicken with thick sweat, and the fiery sensation pervaded my whole being—surging through every membrane, every tendon and every fiber with a blazing intensity.

I hissed sharply, violently arched my back, and moaned as the fire under my skin suddenly blazed hotter, reaching a particularly fearsome temperature on my neck, before it subsided slightly for a brief fraction of a second. It was difficult to understand what I was feeling, but the pain seemed to come in waves—curiously corresponding to the erratic pounding of my heart, a fact which allowed me to focus on its origins when the fire reached its coolest points, before the temperature rushed higher again.

It felt like my neck was burning the hottest with a stabbing, searing pain that seemed to emanate from somewhere just beneath the top layer of skin, and radiated down my neck and into my head along the path of my veins. A similar, though marginally less intense fire blazed ferociously on my left forearm, and left upper arm, my right collarbone, my left cheek, and my right calf—which were distinguishable from the rest of the hot sizzling pain they released into my extremities by their piercing, unrelenting intensity. On my right shoulder there was also a small fire burning, though bizarrely the pain was duller, and not as deep into my skin—as though it was barely scratching the surface, rather than burning all the way through to my bones.

_That's strange_. I thought as I studied, through feeling alone, the origin points of my torment. _Does fire usually burn in odd patches like that and spread out _inside_ my skin, rather than over it? _

Although it was originally a compelling theory, I was beginning to doubt that my current ailment was literal fire—for many of the places which hurt the most were at odd angles on my body, such as smothered against whatever cool, hard surface I lied against, or completely crushed beneath the oppressive weight of unidentified objects which rested on top of me. Although I claimed no expertise in matters of fire, I had kept enough of them burning in the fireplace of my own home from time to time to be aware that fires required constant access to open air in order to burn properly—access which certain portions of my body did not afford.

To add further credence to my emerging theory, it was evident—from all my nerve endings which were vivacious with pain—that none of my body parts had been consumed by any physical flames. And though how much time had passed since its inception, I could not say, I was certain that I had been living through this scorching torture for long enough to lose a few fingers and toes, at the very least, had I been lying in an actual pyre.

Although my heavy eyelids were also subsumed in the spreading fiery pain, I was able to lift them slowly, in an attempt to survey my surroundings, and blinked a few times to hopefully adjust my eyes to the suffocating darkness, and banish the thick fog which greeted them. When my eyes finally began to focus, after several seconds of rapid eyelid fluttering, initially I was not certain what I was looking at—I saw a disturbing, tangled mass of light and dark shapes, which, though somehow extremely familiar, seemed horribly off somehow. I had absolutely no conception of what they were, until I shifted my body slightly in discomfort, feeling the oppressive weight of their copious mass, and one of the lighter shapes gently grazed the raw skin of my cheek: five stiff, cold cylindrical shapes caressing my hot, damp flesh.

I wanted to scream in terror—a dead human hand was touching my face.

Pure dread washed over me like a disastrous riptide as I realized that the familiar looking light and dark shapes were human bodies: pale and bloodless where their cool, unyielding skin was exposed, and black where the torn remnants of their filthy clothing still covered them. I was buried at the bottom of a pile of mutilated corpses—and it was painfully clear, both from the way my body burned with a vengeance, and my unfortunate location in this morbid prison, that I was not supposed to be alive.

Thoroughly disgusted by my current predicament, I raised my sore, aching arms above my head and frantically scrambled to push away the grisly barriers between me and whatever heavenly escape or devilish trap might lurk beyond. As I pushed with all my might against the heavy horde, I was horrified to discover that as soon as I hefted the limp weight of one lifeless form away, another immediately fell in to take its place. For a split second, I believed my confinement to be endless—that I was buried in a bottomless pit of bodies—and considered the possibility that the horrific violence which had occurred in the dark sewers had killed me, and this was Hell.

I couldn't recall anything that I had done in my tragically short life which I believed should warrant such severe, eternal punishment, so I was extremely distraught, and about to give up on my tiresome struggling and simply spiral into despair, until I finally pushed away the last body, and a stream of pale moonlight found its way into my vision.

Relieved that I was still on earth, and not suffering eternal torment for some unknown crime, I took the opportunity to survey my surroundings, still wincing and hissing as the jabbing, fiery pain continued to blaze through my body. I was lying in the middle of an empty, cobbled street, still partially submerged in the bodies—a few of whom I was terribly distressed to discover were those of my friends, a fact which I was able to ascertain from the few visible faces amidst the atrocious mess of carnage and appendages. If there had been anything in my stomach, I was certain I would have been sick—not all the proper limbs were connected to their accompanying torsos, and some bodies were twisted into horribly unnatural positions which put the circus contortionists to shame. Also their faces—they were truly nauseating to behold—were permanently distorted in fear, frozen with gaping, howling mouths, and eyes so wide they appeared to have no eyelids at all.

I forced myself to look away.

Judging by the fact that the city was practically silent, and the grimy streets weren't bustling with police officers, I assumed that none of the townspeople had noticed the gruesome display I was submerged in—nor the derelict bakery sign post which was planted next to us, and now had, written in a dark red substance I assumed to be human blood over the original lettering: THANKS FOR THE MEAL, FATHER CULLEN.

After my eyes lighted upon this horrific message, and realized that the cruel "paint" upon the wooden sign was fresh with viscous, wet droplets still slipping to the ground, I finally, hazily began to remember some of the important details of the bloody chaos which had occurred in the sewers. I was emotionally devastated when I suddenly understood that I had led a party of ten men, some honorable and some much less so to their deaths from my foolishness—from my naïve attempt to slay an entire coven of vampires, with insufficient weapons, and in their own territory, no less. I flinched in horror and revulsion as I recalled the blood-curdling screams of my comrades ringing painfully in my ears as they were brutally slaughtered, and the sickening sensation of my skin bursting and pulling apart rapidly under extreme force and pressure.

But although the memories were terrifying to revisit, they helped me come to the important conclusion that my pain must be resulting from the injuries I had received from the vampires I had foolishly attempted to slay. Why being mauled within an inch of my life by demonically powerful beings would induce this particular feeling of being burned alive, I did not know, but I was determined to find out.

I shuddered as my eyes passed over the vandalized bakery post once again—it had once been very unlike the vampires in the city sewers to be so open about their crimes, they had preferred the solace of secrecy for hundreds of years, and they maintained the pretense that those who disappeared as a result of their regular feeding simply ran away. But over time their efforts to disguise their presence here in London and the reasons behind their crimes were getting sloppy—leaving bloodless bodies in the streets, and easy trails back to their lair… destroying all doubt in the minds of the townspeople that vampires were real, and not simply some folkloric being invented to explain away the oddities that sometimes occurred during the human decomposition process.

Even so, posting a sign admitting their crimes so blatantly, and leaving the remains of their "dinner" in an appalling mound in the middle of the street was, in my mind, utterly excessive and somewhat stupid. While we were most certainly weak in small numbers, if enough human beings were to rally together against the vampires, they might be able to combine their strengths of scientific knowledge and ruthlessness to invent something capable of destroying the foul beasts. Although, in this moment, I would have preferred their extinction to eventually come to pass, I had supposed they would be cunning enough to circumvent it—not witless enough to nearly instigate it.

At this time, however, I had no conception that there were even other vampires who would agree with my assessment, and that this careless incident, when it became known, would later incur the wrath of the world's governing vampire coven—for these were things I had no idea even existed. Instead, I was mostly concerned with the excruciating pain I felt, and removing myself from the horrific scene, so that I did not simply lie here and starve to death beneath the glittering stars in my raging agony.

Slowly, and methodically I extricated myself completely from the ghastly pile, ignoring the lolling heads and flopping limbs of my deceased comrades as I diverted them away from atop my legs and torso, and crawled away across the damp cobbles to the side of the road, so that I could examine my injuries. When I sat myself in the cold dirt a few feet from the edge of the road, I was surprised to find that, despite the oppressive cloud-cover, which blocked out most of the night's bright stars, and the tiny crescent moon which was my only light source, my vision operated extremely well. I could see with miraculous clarity the individual torn fibers in my tattered shirt and pants, and view the infinitesimal shifts in hue in the dried blood which was caked, thick and crusty, all over my skin and clothes.

As I tore away the blood-smeared remnants of my shirt-sleeves, and the haggard bottoms of my trousers, I gasped at the sheer number of deep, bizarre injuries which covered my eerily pale body. Vicious, puckered, half-moons riddled every couple inches of my exposed skin, which were cavernous enough to reach bone in some places, but barely shallow scrapes in others, and all were ridged slightly as though whatever had torn through my flesh was not a perfect half-circle, but rather a lot of small objects which approximated that shape. Judging by the way the skin had burst under pressure and peeled back around the edges of the injuries, I surmised that whatever had created them was very blunt, and yet exceptionally strong.

Vastly disturbed by what I saw, my hands anxiously checked above my shoulders—as there were no mirrors available—and I felt that a sizable gouge had been taken out of the side of my neck, as though an egg-sized chunk of skin and muscle had simply been scooped away. No wonder my neck hurt so badly.

Though there was plenty of dried blood covering my body, nothing was bleeding at the moment—which might have been a comfort in any other situation, but it was not in this one: the deep lacerations in conjunction with this fact only served to further my unease. Even the familiar, reassuring signs of coagulation in my injuries were absent—the wounds were simply grooves, holes, as though all my blood had been sucked away, or pulled deep inside me away from the top layers of skin.

I was utterly befuddled, until I hurriedly rubbed away the cracking layer of dry blood on my forearm to survey the wounds in greater detail, and as all thirty or so of the perplexing ridges in the crescent injuries came into sharp focus, I suddenly realized what I was looking at.

Bite marks.

At some point the chaotic struggle which I had doltishly provoked in the sewers, I had been bitten by vampires—repeatedly.

And that was reason my wounds weren't bleeding, because if there was one correct thing which my father had taught me about vampires, if was that their bites did strange, unnatural things to the human body. Most who were bitten died almost immediately after, from the frenzy of feeding which ensued, but the few that were unfortunate enough to survive the traumatic experience of vampires' steel-hard teeth tearing open their skin were forever altered, changed past the point of redemption.

In other words, humans who lived through being bitten by vampires became vampires themselves.

I swallowed thickly, and my burning hands shook in inescapable terror as the reality of what had occurred to me slowly began to sink in.

I had become the very thing that I had set out to destroy.

There was little time to ponder this, however, as I heard footsteps echoing loudly in the distance, and I panicked—understanding full well that if my father were to find me in this state, he and his friends, all seasoned vampire hunters, would immediately set out to destroy me. Although he and his comrades were growing old and only had human strength in their arsenal, while I was in such exquisite agony, there would be nothing I could do to stop their onslaught. Not to mention that I likely lacked some of vampires' uncanny impenetrability, as my transformation was not yet complete.

Not yet lost in despairing over my lost salvation, and with my survival instincts still in full-force, my eyes rapidly switched back and forth over the urban landscape, hoping beyond hope that there was something to hide behind, or within to conceal me from the approaching person. The pain was making it difficult to think, and the only thing in sight which could possibly serve as a hiding place was the rusty entrance to an abandoned potato cellar—it certainly wasn't my first choice, but it would have to do.

As the footsteps pounded louder and louder, I hurried to my feet, swaying and hobbled over to the cellar, lifted the rusted door, and dropped into the dingy darkness within. There I lied to hide from my unwitting pursuer—against some unidentified, cool, hard surface, and would continue to lay there without moving, as I waited in anguish for the three days of my conversion to be over.

…

When the fiery pain had finally ebbed completely away, and my human heart no longer beat, I was initially relieved, until the excruciating sensation was replaced with another equally intense, though more contained, burning feeling. Instead of my entire body having the impression of having been cast prematurely into the crematorium, it seemed the agony was confined to my throat, and the sensation was more dry than hot, as though I had been stranded on a desert isle for days without water and thus was unbearably thirsty.

Immediately I opened my eyes rose to my feet as quickly as I could, with the intention of searching out something to soothe the throat-splitting dryness away, but the inhumanly rapid movement had kicked up an enormous whirlwind of heavy black dust—which momentarily obscured my vision, and thus delayed my search for a few moments. As the dust settled once again, all the tiny dark flecks settling on the cool cement floor, in over my hopelessly destroyed clothing, I immediately recalled a very important fact—I was no longer human, which would mean that what I was currently thirsting for was not water.

No, as a vampire, I must be thirsting for human blood.

I, Carlisle, and I, Bella as well, had never assumed that the thirst vampires felt would be so potent, it was very similar to the fiery pain which had enveloped me earlier, and yet in some ways profoundly worse. For while the blazing sensation of transformation had been utterly insufferable, it was also paralyzing, and induced a strong desire to simply lay down and wait it out. The thirst which overtook my being now was different. It didn't seek to instill a feeling of passive acceptance, but rather was calling me to action—to use my newfound strength, speed and especially my glistening, diamond-hard teeth, to discover and devour the nearest carrier of our preferred sustenance.

Vivid, startling images of myself sinking said teeth deep into the necks of unsuspecting humans and gorging myself on their warm, red blood arrested my mind, and I was profoundly disturbed by how remorseless my suddenly brutal imagination was. Thick, clear fluid pooled on my tongue and began to trickle down my chin at the gory pictures my mind created, and I briefly considered darting out of this dismal abandoned cellar and latching onto the nearest human to obtain my body's fervent desire—until my conscience suddenly, surprisingly asserted itself.

Despite my recent transformation—despite the fact that I was now supposed to be a soulless vampire—I was shocked to discover that I had absolutely no desire to become a complete monster, and was utterly repulsed by the notion of murdering innocent human beings. The sharp sting in my heart when I my mind considered doing something wrong as a human surfaced with perhaps even more force than before now that I was a vampire, as though it too had been enhanced alongside my increased sensory capabilities. As the thirst continued to torturously ravage my throat, I struggled fiercely to seat myself against the dirty floor to force myself to consider my options before I acted purely on instinct and did something I would most definitely regret. It upset me that the fire in my esophagus so adversely affected my capacity for rational thought, but I had to give it a try, at the very least.

In the haze of my frenzied mind, I could only ascertain two options: I could either embrace my demonic side entirely and give in to my devilish desires to murderer innocents for their blood—which would hardly matter in the eternal scheme of things anyway, as I was already damned by nature—or I could attempt to destroy myself before I succumbed to the nigh irresistible temptation, while I still possessed what I supposed was a faltering afterimage of a soul. While the dryness seized me, the first option obviously seemed the most satisfying, but something in me refused to simply abandon my entire outlook on cosmically determined right and wrong, and I was simultaneously elated and devastated to discover that I still possessed no desire to disappoint my God.

In the end, that decided it for me—I may be damned, (though it seemed patently unfair that someone who had dedicated their entire lives to doing good would suffer in hell for all eternity simply because of a cruel accident) but it was still horribly inconsistent with my character to simply abandon all that I had lived for up to this point. No, I would remain true to my convictions, and as part of that valiance I would make absolutely sure that I was only one who had to suffer as a result of my vampirism. No one else deserved to have their lives ruined because of me.

Having made up my mind, I waited until nightfall, when the streets were utterly empty once again, and swiftly, but silently cracked open the rusty potato-cellar doors, and slipped out stealthily into the chilled cobbled road, careful to remain entirely sheathed in the tall black shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. Tentatively, I took a few shaky steps forward, the heels of my scuffed leather boots gliding almost effortlessly and soundlessly over the uneven rocks, and I held my breath to prevent myself from inhaling any tempting scents which might unexpectedly cross my path. I was both utterly surprised and unimaginably relieved that I no longer was required to breathe, and thus could hold my breath as long as I desired, without having to worry about gasping for air, and then dashing madly after some appetizing smell.

Nevertheless, it was not safe for me, or for any of the hapless townspeople, to remain here in the heart of a bustling city—for either I would be promptly discovered and an execution would be attempted by my father and his fellows, or unforeseen circumstances might cause me to accidentally inhale, which would make everything I had worked for crumble in a matter of milliseconds. I had no desire for that.

So as soon as I could veritably determine that there were no unfortunate souls choosing to wander the night standing in my way, I bolted with lightning speed in a straight line out of the city, towards the nearest wilderness—where I would be sufficiently distant from all temptation—and began devising a way to rid the earth of my abominable existence.

…

I realized, after carrying out every cruel method I could envision to terminate my own life, that my cursed invulnerability made this far more easily said than done. I had attempted death by falling off cliffs, impaling myself with sharp objects, hanging myself, drowning, trying to die by ripping myself to pieces with my inhuman strength and several other methods, but nothing thus far had worked. I had been living (if that's what my current state could be called) in the forest for nearly three weeks and was both physically and mentally exhausted by my futile efforts to cease earthly existence. These weeks had not been entirely without progress however, as I noticed that my strength decreased slightly with every day that I denied myself human blood.

I found reprieve in the idea that perhaps I could starve myself to death, which, while torturous, was preferable to my next idea of erecting and casting myself into my own funeral pyre. I was beginning to run out of ideas, and supposed that if I did not have the courage or means to destroy myself through some thoroughly explosive method (which is what I now understood was the only way die all at once) this was the only option left.

With this object in mind, I had selected a cave, in the middle of the forest, and had taken up residence there—it was cold, dismal, and utterly vacant of all life, as far as I could determine, and thus would be the perfect place for me to lie down and die. But as the weeks laboriously wore on, and passed into months, this proved more difficult that I thought. Humans died within mere days without water, and could similarly only live a few weeks without food—but four months had passed since I had awoken from my transformation (a fact which I could ascertain by the sudden shift in weather) and I was still alive, barely clinging to my sanity, and my throat was constantly enflamed with a thirst which defied all description.

As Carlisle, the thirst seemed to be a sign that the heavens were mocking me in my attempts to do the right thing, and was but a cruel echo of the hellish fate which awaited me when I succeeded in my morbid goals. But as Bella, I was simply dumbfounded—_how on earth is he/am I resisting this? The neck-scorching pain, the vivid and enticing images of what would relieve it... I know it's wrong but... I would have given in. I couldn't fight this like he can. I can't bear this... _

My admission of weakness in this crucial regard startled me, and realized that Edward hadn't been exaggerating when he had warned that the thirst could drive even the most kind-hearted of people to become rabid, remorseless killers. I knew I would never have to face it this bad, because I would feed on animals as the rest of the Cullens did, and relieve the pain before it ever rose anywhere near this level—so I still wanted to be a vampire, but the terrifying reality that my transformation could very well turn me into a unrepentant slaughterer, momentarily shook my profound determination. My musings were cut short, however, as the powerful sensations, and the blonde vampire's intense motivations distanced me from my mind in present-day Volterra, and I became re-immersed in the events of Carlisle's memories.

The cave I, Carlisle had chosen to enact my starvation was far too dark for human eyes to see anything at all, but in the dim puddles of water in the cave, with my superior vampiric vision, I could see from my reflection that my once crimson eyes had turned a vacant, ravenous black—I supposed the only physical indication of my recent deprivation of nourishment. It was bizarre to me that my body did not shrink and wither away, muscles evaporating and skin pulling freakishly taught against thin bones as humans did when they starved, but nonetheless I was unbearably weak, and spent most of the days simply lying on the cold stone floor, staring up at the stalactites descending from the cave ceiling.

It was in one of my less lucid moments of doing this very thing that my keen nose caught the scent—the scent of something edible. I immediately jumped to my feet, my muddied, scratched and splitting leather boots alarmingly steady against the damp, jagged cave floor and, unable to stop myself, darted off savagely into the distance after the somewhat pleasant smell. As I left the cave and my vision was assaulted by the dazzling eight-color rainbows the sunlight was throwing off my skin, and the ridiculously crisp edges of every leaf and twig, I internally screamed at myself to stop, horrified by the prospect that I would give up everything I had been working for now, in this moment of abandon. But my monstrous body absolutely refused to listen, it was as though it had suddenly gained a mind of its own.

Fortunately, as I broke through the lush green foliage into the wide clearing beyond, the individual round leaves tickling softly against my exposed forearms and calves, what my wildly searching eyes fell upon in the grassy valley below was a herd of deer, not human beings.

Intrigued by the vaguely appetizing scent emanating from these docile creatures, I made a split-second decision to perform a desperate experiment—to see if the blood of these unsuspecting herbivores might do anything to mitigate my unbearable hunger—and tore down the rocky hill separating us as quickly as my horribly weakened body could manage. The sights around me remained crystal clear, even as I dashed at unbelievable speeds, but in my rapt, ravenous focus, they were entirely unimportant. I felt the strange clear fluid saturated my mouth again, in anticipation of a meal as my feet carried me swiftly over the summer-scorched blades of grass, and an adrenaline-like bliss—the heady satisfaction of being a predator—blossomed in my being.

Once I was close enough to be spotted by my intended prey, I sprang into the air, sailing exhilaratingly just above the treetops, before I plummeted just as rapidly to the earth, and landed on the soft, furry back of the nearest deer on my way down, and seized it in a mercilessly crushing grip around the middle with both arms. The creature was clearly startled by my unexpected arrival, but it barely had any time to react before I had flipped it onto it's back, pinned it with my bare hands to the ground easily—my strength somewhat increased by the alluring prospect of nourishment—and my teeth eagerly tore through the soft skin on the deer's neck.

Hot, tangy blood spilled into my mouth, and at first I was pleased with this development, until it splashed over my tongue, and I had to fight the urge to gag, for it tasted like some ungodly combination of week-old-bathwater, tree sap and dirt. Despite the chokingly horrible taste, my diamond-hard fingers burrowed deeper into the deer's fur, and I forced myself to swallow, continuing to drink while hoping beyond hope to restore some of my lost strength with the revolting fluid.

When no more blood issued forth in response to my feral slurping, I hesitantly dislodged my teeth from the beast's neck, several strands of viscous blood clinging to my lips and chin as I pulled away, and realized, disappointedly, that I was still just as famished as before—the burning in my throat had not let up in the slightest. Recalling the presence of the rest of the large herd in the clearing, I swiftly lighted upon several other deer and drained them as well, careful to choose stragglers on the outskirts of the herd, and subdue them far enough away so as to not alert them of their imminent demise. Still, it was obvious that the nutrients they provided were not enough, for the sandpapery dryness in my mouth persisted, so one by one I ruthlessly hunted, tackled and devoured every deer in the entire herd, until I was certain that if I drank any more of the distasteful fluid that I would surely vomit.

As I sat in the stiff, scorched grass amid the uncounted bloodless animal bodies strewn carelessly throughout the clearing, and the dazzling sunlight threw distracting flecks of rainbow light off my prismatic skin in every direction, I sank my head into my pale hands in despair. Although, after that ridiculously large meal, I did feel marginally better, it seemed as though I had only restored barely enough strength to get by—I was definitely not the exceptionally powerful being I was when I had first transformed. It was also painfully clear, from the continuance of my internal torture, that deer were not my kind's intended food source. Perhaps their blood could serve as a stop-gap, to sustain vampires who had no other choice, but my heart plummeted in my chest as I concluded that, barring the intervention of some other powers, I could not fully satisfy my thirst this way.

I wished more than anything, as I had sprinted down into this valley, brimming with the excitement of the hunt, that drinking animal blood would be a viable substitute—that when I drank it, I would no longer thirst, because then, perhaps I could live with some measure of comfort, and not have to terminate my own life. And that prospect had been exceedingly heartening, for, while I had once considered it necessary for the greater good, I was growing tired of attempting suicide, and was scrambling for a way, any way to justify my continued tenure here on planet Earth. Being able to have my thirst satisfied by animals, and not by humans seemed like a very good justification—however, I had quickly discovered that my hope for satisfaction from these gentle beasts was a foolish fantasy.

I had learned something else valuable today as well—I realized now, that starvation would prove impossible, for once I grew hungry enough, I would completely lose my rational capabilities to resist the call of my murderous nature and eventually that would drive me to devour an animal. Doing so would only damper the thirst by the slightest fraction of a degree, but the restored strength it provided would almost certainly delay my demise. Thus, if I attempted to starve myself again, I would instead be caught in a perpetual cycle of starving and consuming animals, and I would never be content or free from this wretched existence.

With my head still buried in my hands, I mulled over what my next course of action should be for several days, refusing to move from my seat in this valley of contorted, lifeless bodies—even as all sorts of scavengers arrived to pick at the remains of my frenzied meal—as I reviewed the allotment of equally disturbing fates I could choose from. I had decided, at the end of a week of pondering that the only honorable option left was to cast myself into a fire of my own creation, and had set out to gather kindling, when I was suddenly struck with a wonderful thought which made me stop in my tracks, the thick wooden beams bundled in my arms clattering to the forest floor.

_Vampires are damned because their nature drives them to slaughter humans, which is a grievous sin. But if one such as myself were to deny this murderous nature, would I not be unable to be held under the same condemnation?_ I considered. _Would it not be unjust to punish me for simply thirsting after humans, but never killing any? If I could find an acceptable replacement... could I perhaps__ even unashamedly enjoy the obvious perks that immortality afforded? Could my soul even be redeemable? _

I knew that hope was dangerous, for I would be even more devastated if, when I finally perished, I turned out to be wrong, but it was so refreshingly exhilarating to logically determine that the salvation I so deeply desired may not be entirely out of my reach. I decided at last that if could discover a workable alternative to murdering humans that there was a good chance that I could escape the abhorrent chains of damnation which fiercely encircled the rest of my kind, and a bright smile split across my stony face for the first time since my transformation. If I could continue to exist in total abstinence from human blood, I might not be doomed to an eternity burning in Hell, but instead could be encircled about by angels and crowns of glory.

But there was one big problem—what on earth would I use as a substitute? _If only the blood of beasts could free me from this pain._ I, Carlisle thought dejectedly._ If alleviation was the sensation I felt instead of continued agony, I could be free. If I could forget my torment after I consumed animals, if the pain simply disappeared as though it never was, I could live happily. _

Obviously, if my earlier experience was any indication, that was not going to happen, so I slowly knelt of the prickly brown grass and began to regather my discarded firewood, until I was suddenly hit with another revitalizing epiphany: _There are more animals in the forest than just deer_, my mind contributed helpfully. _Perhaps they are the key to forgetting your pain. _

Enlivened by the hope of regaining a chance at heaven, I immediately rose to my feet, abandoning the branches for my funeral pyre, and decided, as my hypersensitive eyes raked over the clearing, and peered into the vast forest beyond, that I would taste every beast in the forest, with the intention of discovering which, if any, could possibly be the secret to evading a hellish fate. Evidently, deer were most pointedly a "no", but I refused to give up in my quest to find another way until I had personally imbibed everything this wide wilderness had to offer.

Something incomprehensibly strange happened with my next attempt however—although the blood of bears proved to be just as unpalatable as that of the deer, the thirst seemed to ebb almost immediately after I drained the ferocious beast. My throat still tingled somewhat from time to time, but it was entirely bearable, and even many days later, I had no recollection of it being engulfed the characteristic dry pain of bloodthirst since. Even the slight tingling seemed to disappear over time, it was as though as soon as my thirst slipped from the present into the past, it disappeared entirely. I was overjoyed by my apparent success, and also intrigued—what other creatures might produce this same effect, and were there any other vampires in this wide world who had discovered that some animals were effective human-blood replacements?

The possibilities seemed endless.

After two weeks had passed since my second unorthodox vampire meal, my thirst grew slightly, increasing from its habitual tingle to a hot scratchy sensation, and I hurried to repeat my recent experiment—this time choosing a different species to test for sustainability. I was pleasantly surprised as their disgusting blood also quelled my thirst in the exact same manner, and rejoiced in this incomprehensibly great news by sprinting incredible distances over the vast grassy hills and leaping up to unbelievable heights, tripping lightly over the sharp rocky cliffs. I noticed, in the occasional fleeting reflections I caught of myself in the rivers and lakes I encountered as I celebrated throughout the large forest, that my once ruby-red, then obsidian black eyes were now a pale golden color.

Intrigued, I halted my ecstatic merriment for a moment and slowly bent over a particularly clean and still-watered lake, to examine them with greater clarity, but as I stared intently at my crystalline reflection they offered no answers for their sudden change in hue—I understood that black eyes indicated thirst, and that the red eyes most vampires possessed therefore must indicated that thirst had been quenched, but I had no understanding as to why my eyes were such a peculiar color. The most logical conclusion was that this bizarre pigmentation was a symptom of my recent, unusual diet, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the honey color wasn't simply a superficial indicator that I refused to consume human beings, but that it meant something about the way my body was reacting to the distasteful substances I had been consuming. _Was it a bad sign—like the yellow jaundice of dying humans—or was it a good sign, that I was "golden" in the eyes of God?_

After a few moments of pondering, I shrugged my shoulders—it didn't particularly matter what color my eyes were, only that I was able to continue existing without violating my scruples against human murder—and went happily on my way.

Determined to be thorough, when my two weeks were again expired, I tried a different animal and was further elated to discover with each trial that every new beast I sank my teeth into offered the same blissful absence of pain that the others had. Their blood was still extremely difficult to swallow, for the taste, although varying, was like that of thick, liquid tree bark, or crushed gravel, or sticky, wet leaves, or some equally unsatisfying substance, but I did not let that relatively insignificant fact discourage me. Sacrificing pleasant tastes for a life free of the cavernous guilt of taking human life was a concession I was happy to make

There was a time, for some difficult weeks were I worried that alleviation I now felt from dining on beasts was a temporary state, and I would inevitably relapse into the weakness and intolerably burning thirst of before—but that concern rapidly disappeared after many months came and went and such a disastrous thing never occurred, no matter which beasts I consumed. After nearly a year on this strange diet, I began to be curious as to what separated deer from the rest of the animal kingdom—what made it so when I drank their blood my thirst remained almost wholly unsatisfied, when every other animal I had tasted satisfied my thirst almost perfectly.

I returned to the field where I had my first, unsatisfying experience with the blood of beasts, and began to search for the elusive animal. When, after many hours of searching, my keen nose finally honed in on their characteristic scent, I bolted, paying no mind to the branches and shrubs which smacked against my impenetrable skin, nor to the gently falling snow which whirled mesmerizingly in front of my superior vision, as I tore directly through the heart of the forest. When the object of my desire suddenly entered my vision: a young, tawny brown doe who had only just lost her spots, I lunged—over a year of practice having made the motion even more graceful—and tore wildly into its throat with my iron-strong teeth.

But after the putrid tasting blood had finished spilling hotly into my mouth once again, I staggered backwards in disbelief from the beast's corpse, some of the foul-tasting liquid still pouring from my pale lips, and sat cross-legged amid the tall grass blades in utter confusion. I was unable to understand it—this time it was different than before.

Instead of the clawing thirst remaining in my throat, the blood of this beast had miraculously quelled it, producing the exact same effect as the other wildlife I had eaten over the course of this last year and a half. I wracked my brain for why this might be so, and came to the somewhat unsatisfactory conclusion that perhaps my body simply needed time to acclimate to the atypical nourishment—and perhaps the disheartening adjustment period was the reason no other vampire I had ever heard of subsisted on animal blood. That theory didn't seem entirely right, but while I half-heartedly searched for other possibilities for the next few days, eventually I came to accept this explanation, and no longer allowed it to trouble my mind.

As Carlisle, I was content with this development.

But as Bella I was disturbed by the inconsistency—why would deer blood work now, when it hadn't worked before?

I was also disturbed by how mislead I had been about living on animal blood in general, for when Edward had said animal blood tasted like tofu, he had been uncharacteristically generous. From Carlisle's memories it seemed that the blood, though one could certainly choke it down, was the most unpalatable thing I had the misfortune of tasting. Also, when Edward had said that it "keeps us strong, but we're never fully satisfied" I had no idea how true that statement was. Carlisle's throat endured constant tingling sensation, even after he had recently fed, and there were tiny moments when I had felt as though something more painful was bleeding through—like there was some kind of barrier which blocked out the vast majority of the pain, but was not entirely impermeable.

It was strange because none of this felt natural at all.

There was something off, something _wrong_ about the satisfaction that Carlisle felt—both now, after his second meal of deer, and throughout this whole year of beast-drinking.

And I, Bella, wasn't about to simply dismiss that impression—for I'd learned since my recent discoveries with Edward that my intuition was usually right when it came to identifying when something fishy was up. Although the idea of being able to live on animals rather than humans was such an amazing and relieving concept that Carlisle was unwilling to seriously entertain the prospect of anything sinister going on, I was fully prepared to search out the darker possibilities.

As I mulled it over for a while, I got a sneaking suspicion that Carlisle was still famished even now, just as he was after his first vampiric meal, and that somehow the alleviation of his thirst from then on was all an elaborate fabrication, for it was the only explanation which would account for all the variables—his initial failure, his current "success", the unrelenting tickling in this neck, and the occasional spotting through of a more profound pain. I considered momentarily that perhaps someone else had bewitched him into this state of false contentment, but immediately dismissed it, for there was no one to perform such a task—Carlisle was in the middle of the forest, alone, for crying out loud! The only option left was that somehow he had learned a way to cope with the trauma on his own, to create the illusion of satisfaction himself in order to forget the pain of thirst as though it had never existed.

_Wait a minute—that sounds familiar. _I thought, wracking my brain for when I had heard of something similar. After a few moments I suddenly remembered Carlisle's thoughts after his first unsuccessful meal, "if I could forget my torment after I consumed animals, if the pain simply disappeared as though it never was, I could live happily." _Was that what was going on here? He had some how made himself forget?_ I asked myself, incredulously. But_ h__ow would he manage something like that? It wasn't like he could alter memories or anything… _

_Oh wait… yes he can._

_Holy crap—did that mean that Carlisle was using his gift on himself?_

_Because if he was... it was completely unconscious, and so utterly convincing, that even he himself wasn't aware of it. _

_Oh my God... _


	10. Chapter 9: Aro's Experiment

**AN: Now we're starting to understand Carlisle a little better. Crazy huh? This next chapter should solidify the last one's big reveal a bit more, so if any of you are confused, I hope this clears things up. Also, several of you mentioned the other Cullens and the Denalis-how they manage the thirst will be mentioned later, but first there are some important things to take care of first. **

**More memories on the way! Though this time from a different perspective... I love writing the minds of different characters. I hope I'm capturing them well enough-I try not to be to OOC, but I'm no Stephanie, so forgive me for any inconsistencies. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Aro's Experiment<strong>

_I must have overlooked something—there has got to be another explanation for the inconsistencies I feel in Carlisle's memories. _I thought desperately, frantically scrambling for any sensible alternative explanation in hopes of restoring my naïve, crumbling paradigm about Carlisle's management of his vampire-thirst. _Maybe he's right, maybe it just takes some getting used to, and the occasional "off-ness" and fleeting moments of pain that seem to slip through something is just his own personal unease about being a vampire. Maybe I'm reading too much into this… _I tried to reassure myself unsuccessfully.

_No, my theory still makes more sense_, I hesitantly admitted to myself. _When he was leaping around in joy I felt like he was exerting himself—exertion shouldn't happen to a well-fed vampire, at least… I don't think it should. They're not supposed to get tired. But maybe…_

As I continued desperately battling with myself over the possibilities, suddenly I felt something icy twitch infinitesimally against my palm, back in the "throne room" in the Volterra castle—Lucretia's tiny hand, probably—and suddenly Aro's solemn thoughts on the matter poured through the bond established by his daughters.

_Yes, dearest Isabella, I have also arrived at the same conclusion, _I heard Aro "say", somehow managing to sound profoundly sorrowful and yet firm in his assertions, despite the fact that his velvety voice was only speaking in my head. _Through my observations of this, and many other events, I have deduced that this is the only possible outcome—however, if there are still any doubts, I hope that these next few experiences will alleviate them entirely._

_ Wait, next few experiences? I'm going to see _more _memories? _I thought disbelievingly.

_Oh yes, my lovely Isabella, _Aro seemed to answer in response, his words caressing my mind with a soft, feathery lullaby, and I imagined that his face was graced with a gentle, congenial smile. _There is_ far_ more I must show you. _

I was completely stunned by his reply—_can he use his gift of mind-reading through his daughters? Are all of my life's memories exposed to him now?_ I suddenly panicked. I was absolutely terrified by the idea that my innermost thoughts and lascivious desires for him were now bare before his inquisitive eyes, and I felt my distant mental barrier slowly slipping from my tenacious hold, threatening to rush back into place at full force, and knock Lucretia back against the unforgiving floor again in the harsh shockwave of its return.

_Calm yourself, my dear._ Aro soothed warningly, and I was surprised as his gently chiding reminder immediately gave me the necessary boost to regain my indomitable grip on my shield and propel it even further across the room—I didn't want to disappoint him. _Do not worry, I am not reading your thoughts, _he clarified quietly, and I exhaled in extreme relief at the confirmation that my all-important privacy was not in any additional, unforeseen jeopardy. _This connection is one way—but at this moment your face is simply extremely easy to read, _he offered as his final explanation, and I wondered at what sort of telling faces my mortal, female body could be making as I stood against the pale stone floor which felt so very far away, for I was still subsumed in Carlisle's memories at the moment.

I hoped none or my facial expressions were horribly embarrassing—that would be just my luck.

_I am hopeful that these experiences will solidify the truth for you, Isabella, _Aro said suddenly, and although his countenance was presently invisible to me, I swore I could feel the cool stale air ripple slightly around me as his lips twisted into an even wider smile—and I was uncertain whether to be utterly delighted or terribly frightened by this, for with Aro, it seemed one could never be absolutely certain whether his widest smiles were the safe, ludicrously happy kind, or the I'm-going-to-eat-you kind. Before I could heft open my eyes and ascertain this crucial information, however, Aro's smooth, buttery voice sliced into my mind once again and all my previous worries were suddenly forgotten.

_It would be such a terrible waste for you to misunderstand, especially with your upcoming transformation… _he intoned mysteriously, his ominous tone giving no direct indication of his meaning, which thoroughly perplexed me, until I suddenly wanted to smack myself for my extreme idiocy—it was obvious, Aro didn't want me to "misunderstand" and attempt to live on a diet of animal blood when I was finally made into a vampire. He wanted to make absolutely sure that when I got my heart's truest desire that I would choose as he did, to consume human blood, and perhaps even accept his unnerving perspective on "human sacrifice".

Faintly, through the haze of Carlisle's sunbathing in the forests of 17th century London, I processed the sensation of my own body gulping.

Aro wanted to make me into a murderer.

Bella Swan abruptly finished her terrified swallowing and suddenly was awash with the dizzying sensation of panic. She didn't want that—she definitely did not want to kill her fellow humans. Killing people was one of the highest wrongs in her eyes, only occasionally surpassed the most brutal cases of rape and dismemberment—killing was what evil people did, not good, kind-hearted, average people like her. But Aro desired that grisly outcome for her, and so she, knowing full well that Aro always got his way, sooner or later, was horribly distraught.

_Wait… when had "Bella" become "she" and not "me"? _whoever, "I" was questioned, perturbed greatly by the sudden change and alight with shock as the lush greens and bright lights of the forest surrounding me immediately began to melt away and spiral viciously before my vision into a thick, inky darkness. _Who am I? Where am I going? Why is everything so dark? _

I was lost and terrified by the utter confusion which enveloped me, until before I knew it, I was thrust violently into another memory—this one not nearly as old, but the surroundings and sensations just as bizarre as Carlisle's.

…

The first thing I was aware of as the elaborate scenery around me came into sharp, vampiric focus were the immaculate, bright white, wood-paneled walls of a decently sized master bedroom, which were covered in intricate carvings and expensive gold-plated filigrees. Turning my head quickly to observe the rest of the room, my acute vision caught sight of a large closet, its beautiful white doors open wide to showcase a vast plethora of ruffled silks, downy velvets, and ornate brocades all in varying shades of black, red, grey and gold, the individual luxurious fibers reflecting slightly in the warm candlelight. There was also a white-painted wooden desk sitting against the far wall, littered with untidy arrangements of scrolls, books, parchment, carefully sealed inkpots and a few scattered feathered pens amid the mess, and large four-poster bed beside it covered in an assortment of decorative pillows, and sensuous satin sheets which made it painfully obvious the piece of furniture was not particularly intended for sleeping upon.

Having no desire to dwell on what sort of things "I" must use that bed for, I spun rapidly to face the other side of the room, and was greeted by the dazzling sight of a pearl-framed, full-length mirror, the spotless surface of which reflected my likeness in perfect detail.

I paused in my surveying of my unfamiliar surroundings, and took a gradual step towards my reflection, slowly taking in every tiny aspect of my appearance, from the brilliant sheen of the silver buttons on my coat, to the tiny, individual pores of my alabaster skin. Flexing my fingers, which were pale, thin, masculine, and very strong, I suddenly stared down at my feet with the intent of assessing the acceptability of my entire ensemble, and my gaze slowly drifted up from the pointy, heeled and buckled shoes which were traditional for men in this era, to the long white stockings wrapping around my powerful legs, and up to my tailored knee-length black trousers. From there my eyes continued to rise, climbing up a well-toned stomach and chest, shrouded from my view by a blood-red, frilly button-up shirt, and skimmed along handsome broad shoulders, which were cased in an elaborate 18th century, black brocade tailcoat. A pleased smile tugged at my thin lips as I recognized the familiar silver Volturi pendant, seemingly unchanged despite the passage of centuries, dangling over my flat chest, but the happy expression quickly twisted into a deep frown as my eyes rose to the crown of my head.

Jet black hair was pulled back sharply from my the scalp, revealing a pronounced widow's peak, and its silky length lied immaculately straight as it pooled elegantly over my shoulders—which would have pleased me, if it were not for the fact that I knew the loose locks would be irksome in the hours to come. As I reached across the mirror for a delicate, flowery, wide-toothed comb, and a silky black ribbon to remedy the situation, two inquisitive, burgundy eyes met my gaze—their dark color reminding me that I was late for my usual meal—and I immediately realized, who I was in this memory.

I was Aro of the Volturi.

And I was in the process of grooming myself in preparation for the upcoming hunt.

As Bella, I was initially startled by the prospect of experiencing the dauntless vampire's life in such an intimate way, especially given my potent attraction to the lethally dangerous man, but I was thoroughly relieved to find that his own erratic thoughts effectively drowned out most of mine, as so I was not hopelessly distracted by the insane gorgeousness of the reflection I currently surveyed in the mirror in any disturbingly narcissistic way. Certainly, as Aro, I recognized that I was a good looking fellow, but I was not sexually attracted to myself—which offered a welcome reprieve from my silly flustered fantasies.

I had also worried that perhaps in this form I would again be wracked with the same untamable, unbearable thirst that I had endured in Carlisle's memories, especially with the darkening color of Aro's eyes, and having witnessed Caius' fearsome reaction to his eyes being much the same shade. But I was surprised to discover that, although it was cloying in its persistence, the faint scratching in my throat was entirely manageable—for now.

Once again, as it was with Carlisle in the beginning of his memories, the most upsetting thing about being Aro right now was not experiencing life in his physical body, but instead was the fact that I now reasoned exactly like him, and was completely exposed to his chaotic, frenzied state of his mind. He, or rather I, never focused on one thing for very long, but instead my thoughts flitted rapidly from the memories of countless others whose minds I had read the entirety of in the past, to my own vivid recollections of important events, and finally back to my heady anticipation for what was about to occur.

The rush of foreign, crystal-clear images, emotions, and sensations was maddening and relentless, and at once I, Bella, immediately understood the source of Aro's unpredictable mood swings and his slight air of mental instability—of course you would go nuts if you had so many thousands of lifetimes of memories swimming around in your head!

As the thoughts continued to swarm, many of them extremely painful, traumatic and disorienting, I immediately gained a greater appreciation for the man in whose memories I was—for he was keeping it together quite well, given the frightening and ridiculous circumstances. I, Bella, would have totally lost it after five months of this—and yet he had lived with this insane condition for literally thousands of years, with only a few bipolar-like moments, and the occasional, fleeting identity crisis to show for it.

I marveled at his incredible tenacity, and was stricken with profound feelings of inadequacy, much like the despairing emotions which plagued me when I realized that Carlisle's will to resist his utterly agonizing thirst was orders of magnitude stronger than mine—and I began to wonder why Aro thought I was anything special at all. Clearly, with my inability to endure such intense hardships, I was not cut out to be a vampire.

But even so, this disappointing knowledge did nothing to lessen my desire to become one. Instead, it only fueled my fire—_perhaps_, I considered, _by living through both of these powerful, stubborn vampires, I could gain some measure of their unbelievable strength and be worthy of Aro's praising regard. _

As my thoughts were summarily flushed out, by those of the ancient, telepathic vampire, my last realization as Bella, before I was sucked back into the darkness, was that, despite their obvious diverging choices in lifestyle, both Carlisle and Aro—or rather Carlisle and I—shared many striking similarities. We both had a strong sense of protective duty which not only extended to our own preferred company, but also included the welfare of the entire planet, an unwavering adherence to our diverse opinions even in the face of harsh opposition, and a gentle fatherly quality about us which indicated that we would treasure those in our respective covens as though they were our own biological children.

Of course, by virtue of being separate individuals, we also had our differences.

One such difference was that, instead of all my actions being guided by a persistent, piercing conscience and strong Christian beliefs, I, Aro, operated based on a slightly looser set of ethics, and perceived the world around me from a complicated multiplicity of belief systems. My moral compass was also much more subjective—the particular situation and intent mattered to me a great deal more than absolute actions alone, and I surmised that almost any deed, no matter how objectively vile could be justified given the right combination of extenuating circumstances.

I was stunned as I realized that with this line of reasoning, merely having the innate instinct to imbibe human blood seemed to qualify as sufficient rationalization for my habitual slaughter. For surely, I asserted logically, if whatever higher forces had created my kind did not desire us to kill humans, they would have provided us with, at the very least, marginally attractive alternatives. And the positively revolting possibility of drinking animal blood instead, as my recently admitted guest, Carlisle had suggested, most certainly did not meet this requirement.

Nonetheless, as Heidi was woefully late in returning with our usual food, I had agreed to test his intriguing diet out of sheer curiosity—for despite the fact that I had already seen all his failures and successes with the tongue-grating substance, I wanted to know if the slight differences in our physiologies would cause animal blood to impact my immortal digestive system differently than his, and the only way to know this for certain was to try his bizarre diet for myself. Although, from his memories, I expected that I would find the taste to be utterly disagreeable, I wondered if perhaps I might eventually, "acclimate" to his strange diet, as he had, and whether that was possible while I still continued to drink human blood—or whether the two substances were entirely incompatible with each other.

No matter what the outcome of today's experiment, I was relatively confident that I would not abandon my consumption of humans entirely—for the taste of it was simply exquisite, and I utterly loathed the idea of giving up the delectable ambrosia forever. Even if Carlisle's ways were satisfactorily agreeable, I would not convert to a diet solely consisting of the blood of beasts—however I was sure the strange man I had begun to consider a good friend during his short stay thus far, would appreciate even a compromise of sorts. For even a partial adaptation on my part to his peculiar methods would mean less human deaths, which would hearten him greatly—as the demise of mortals was something the poor, troubled vampire was strangely unable to stomach.

I thought it strange that he was still tormented by that debilitating guilt even now, as he had existed as a vampire for over a decade now, and most immortals usually determined before this point a way to either reconcile their human beliefs with their undead reality, or simply abandoned their mortal convictions altogether. For him to persist in this stage of moral uncertainty for so long was wholly disheartening to watch, and I wished desperately from the bottom of my unbeating heart that I could help him sort through his feelings to determine which outcome was suitable for him. I knew firsthand that the process of reevaluating one's deeply held convictions was vastly uncomfortable, but—while many of my guard had taken the second route and had violently discarded their holy books and their gods, in the wake of their transformation—I saw no compelling reason that Carlisle had to make the same decision, for I did not believe faith was fundamentally incompatible with vampirism.

All that was required of him to be released from his unnatural unease surrounding the subject of consuming humans, was to make a single logical step—to accept that as a new creature, his creator likely expected different things of him than had been expected of him before. Once his mind accepted this simple idea, he would finally be at peace with himself and his occasional, perfectly natural desire for human blood.

Of course, he was so firmly adverse to the idea—his stubbornness more unyielding than any other force of nature I had ever encountered—and so I doubted that any reasoning, no matter how sound, would sway him from his determination to resist the delicious blood of mortals.

But it was not my objective to change his mind on the matter today—for the moment he seemed content to live in his unnecessary, sacrificial self-denial, and I was fascinated by the excellent opportunity the challenge he had issued me provided to potentially expand my menu options. For while it was true that I did not regret consuming humans—believing it was what we were naturally designed to consume—I supposed that having alternatives could be useful, especially on days like this, where obtaining food discreetly from among the human populations proved more difficult than anticipated. Perhaps, even, if I could discover no ill-effects after some time from occasionally dining in this atypical manner, I would persuade the rest of my guard to attempt it—living on the blood of beasts would certainly necessitate a move of our headquarters as there wasn't enough wildlife in Italy to sustain all of us, but it would certainly reduce the likelihood of drawing too much attention through copious disappearances and murders.

Yes… the possibilities were captivating indeed.

When I finished tying my hair back with the silky black ribbon, and concluded the rest of my obsessive primping—which was entirely unnecessary, as I was about to get horribly mussed whilst hunting anyway—I strode purposefully out of my quarters, my low heels silent against the thick, lush carpet, and my newly secured tail of hair, swishing slightly as I walked. As I passed into the cool stone hallway beyond, I was delighted to find Carlisle waiting for me outside the door, ready to stoop into a deep groveling bow, until he suddenly recalled that I despised being worshiped and instead offered a small, timid wave.

My brow furrowed in concern as my hawk-like vision lighted upon his skin, which seemed to be the slightest tint greener than mine—such an infinitesimal difference in hue that it would be utterly impossible for humans, or even less perceptive vampires to notice, but a marked difference nonetheless—a color which he had possessed ever since our first encounter several days ago. His eyes also, were a deep, disturbing midnight black, and there were pronounced dark purple bruises surrounding them like the rings of a raccoon, both clear signs that he had allowed his thirst to linger unsatisfied until his body exhibited the alarming symptoms of starvation, rather than simply to the point of the first significant discomfort, which was the moment when I preferred to feed. Why he had let himself go this long, I simply could not understand.

After a few days of awkwardly avoiding the topic, whilst he was holed up in our vast libraries, captivating me with his exceptional intelligence and relentless pursuit of knowledge, I had all-but-begged him to partake of the humans we kept in case of emergency, but he had not only firmly declined my generous offer, but also had resisted, even in his obvious deprivation, the human blood spilled directly in front of him as Caius decided to accept my invitation to dine instead. His restraint was unfathomable—unearthly, even—and although it was terribly frightening that any vampire could be so unaffected by the substance which frenzied the minds of the rest of us, it was one of the things that had inspired me to attempt, at least for today, to live as he did.

I wanted to understand how his god-like endurance was possible—and if it was something I could attain through his bizarre methods.

As I warmly approached my new friend, with my arms spread enthusiastically wide, I quickly pulled him into a tight, fond embrace, which initially surprised the younger vampire now enclosed in the crushing grip my arms, but nonetheless he eventually responded by returning the amicable gesture, if somewhat less zealously. When I pulled back from him, I dipped my head slightly and gave him a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek, his memories of the last few hours reading in the library dancing vibrantly before my eyes, ears, and over my whole body at the contact of our skin, momentarily displacing me in time, before the connection was abruptly severed, and I was myself again, staring off into space and struggling to absorb all the enthralling information Carlisle had gleaned from the dusty tomes.

While I was still reeling from the influx, Carlisle shyly returned the gesture, which sent even more sensations and discoveries fluttering my way—the gritty texture of ancient parchment beneath his cool fingers, the gruesomely detailed medical images depicted in the pages, the whirring of his mind as he considered methods to increase his already profound resistance to human blood—before he drew back from the smooth surface of my cheek, and his doe-like eyes looked me over curiously.

"This is the ensemble you had decided to hunt in, Aro?" the blonde vampire asked incredulously, and as I look over his simple white shirt, thick leather boots and working trousers I am suddenly overflowing with mirth, so much so that I bubble over with rich, high laughter—laughing at myself for my utterly incurable vanity, and laughing at Carlisle for taking notice of it.

"Oh, but of course," I respond in jest, a wide, cheek-splitting smile overtaking my features. "Surely you understand that a gentleman must look his best while carousing in the forest"

"I would not describe it as 'carousing'…" Carlisle defended, though from the barest crinkling around his eyes he seemed to laboring very hard to restrain a chuckle.

"There will be drink and merriment, will there not?" I counter amicably, giving him a mock-conspiratorial look over my shoulder as if to suggest that we are about to engage in something deliciously clandestine, something wildly indulgent and lawless like a secret outdoor symposium.

"…I suppose…" He concedes hesitantly, turning his head away from mine in what appears to be shame to gaze pointedly at the toes of his monstrously scuffed black leather boots, and the smooth stone tiles beneath them.

_Something troubles him about this_, I realized, and at once I am utterly befuddled. _Has it not been his sole object to convince me to do this all week? Why the sudden cold feet?_

"Come now, dear Carlisle, I am oh so curious as to how this will turn out," I said consolingly while gesturing invitingly towards the studious blonde vampire, hoping to convey my feelings of excitement and thus allay whatever fears he has suddenly contracted since I last touched him. "Do tell why this troubles you," I urged him, deep concern etching my regal countenance as I set a gentle hand on his shoulder, protected from the mental onslaught by the flimsy, rough cotton, "was this activity not your suggestion, my friend?"

Carlisle's obsidian eyes suddenly snapped up, and I was once again horrified by how there is absolutely no discernable distinction between his pupils and his irises. "I am honored that you are choosing to engage in this experiment with me…" he rushed to clarify, so that I would not mistake his recent behavior as manifestation that he did not desire my company in this thrilling venture, and once again nearly bent into a swift bow, before he immediately composed himself and straightened his humble spine. "I only worry that you will be disappointed, sir," he explained, a profound worry and sadness washing over his sallow complexion, "My first taste was, as you certainly know… unsatisfactory."

_But of course. He worries that if my first experience is as horrid as his was, that I shall totally abandon the prospect and perhaps even scorn him for it. _I thought_. I understand the risks, though he should know that a single unpleasant, non-thirst-quenching taste is hardly enough to deter me. _

"Ah, that is to be expected, I suppose," I sigh lamentingly, recalling the strong, pungent flavors which had seized Carlisle's tongue in his memories from his time in England's broad forests, and the continuation of his blazing thirst despite the foul drink in the first instance of his experimentation. "It matters not—I will be hunting beasts tonight!" I exclaim ecstatically, clapping my hands together near my face to indicate my absolute wonderment at the curious concept and my boundless excitement to test this peculiar new thing for myself. "Is not that fantastic?!"

Though initially somewhat taken aback by my response, Carlisle's face suddenly lit up—and my heart soared. It was so very rare to see the younger vampire truly happy when we discussed anything involving feeding, for although we had "agreed to disagree" on this particular topic several days ago when he had first arrived to request use of our libraries, it was no secret that my complete lack of guilt towards devouring humankind perturbed him greatly. Although I still did not fully understand it, I could tell that this unorthodox diet of his, and especially its implications that humans were left unharmed meant a great deal to Carlisle. That I was willing to even try it, despite my original disgust at the idea, had cast a bright, warm glow over his usually sullen pallor.

"Yes. It is," he agreed, positively beaming.

"Then let us not delay any longer!" I suggested with delighted impatience, tossing a dramatic hand in the air with a slight twirl to punctuate the idea of moving quickly towards out mutual goal. "Lead me to the feast!"

Without any further hesitation, Carlisle quickly turned and sprinted down the long medieval hall, and a competitive smirk pulled at the corner of my lips, before I crouched and chased wildly after him—I would not be outrun by my severely famished friend. Despite the obnoxious clacking of my impractical footwear, I managed to catch up to Carlisle extremely quickly, and with a playfully derisive grin, I pushed past him to spring out of the sewer grate first, landing deftly in the nighttime-streets, prepared for the hunt.

…

Pale, yellow moonlight shone brightly over the grassy Tuscan countryside that night, as I lied on my stomach behind a crop of bushes beside my dear friend, who sat on his heels in a deep crouch waiting patiently with me to catch the scent of our intended meal. I watched intently as his dark eyes switched anxiously over the misty horizon, and I continually sniffed the crisp autumn air for any sign of even a remotely appetizing scent, but my keen nose caught nothing except the earthly smells of fresh dry leaves, dewy green grass, and cool evening air. My search was somewhat hopeless, as I had no idea what we were looking for in the first place, nor how I would detect it—for I had not spent enough time amidst wildlife since my transformation to recognize it's scent—but I trusted that Carlisle, from his years of experience knew what he was doing.

After a couple agonizing hours of waiting, my head suddenly snapped up from the damp grass. I could now sense that there was a warm body slowly approaching us—a rather large one, it seemed—but its scent was pastoral, muddy, and bland, and held absolutely no appeal to my palate. _Was this what we were after?_ I wondered, silently hoping for something slightly more appealing to come along.

"Aro," Carlisle suddenly whispered to me in tones so low that only vampires could hear, turning his head on his neck to face mine, and pointing a single white finger in the direction of a large fallow deer as it broke through a clearing in the distance. "Try that one," he encouraged softly, his deep black eyes swimming with excitement, and his whole frame jittering with the restraint it took not to tear after the beast himself.

Hesitantly, I averted my gaze from his, and stared in complete confusion at the gentle creature as it bent its head gradually to nibble at the wet grass beneath its feet—for despite my thirst, I felt no desire to consume this beast. Nothing stirred within me at all, I was utterly unmoved by the presence of this kindly herbivore, and yet Carlisle was visibly shaking from the effort to allow me the first taste tonight.

It was unnerving.

"You wish me to taste a deer?" I whispered back disbelievingly, "Was not that ineffective the first time?"

Carlisle tilted his head acquiescingly, acknowledging the correctness of my statement, and I watched intently as another flicker of bloodlust flashed over his features before he spoke to justify his choice. "I am afraid deer are the only game large enough to sustain me here in Italy. Hares and porcupines simply will not do of course," he explained with a humored smile, and I made a disgusted face as I imagined the awkwardness of trying to wrap my dexterous hands and iron-strong teeth around the tiny, fluffy or prickly creatures, only to be rewarded with a tiny amount of blood for my humiliating efforts.

"Very well," I responded, glad for the presence of a vampire more seasoned in this unorthodox diet than I—for certainly I would make a compete fool of myself, chasing after every tiny rodent I could find in order to gain my fill. "Perhaps you should go first, allow me to watch so that I may imitate your actions?" I suggested politely as I rose to my feet and quickly dusted the blades of grass and leaves off of my black, brocade tailcoat.

For the briefest fraction of a second Carlisle parted his soft lips to protest, but then instantly snapped them shut and offered an abrupt, silent nod, seeming to accept my explanation immediately in his eagerness, and yet I could tell that he was profoundly ashamed that his hunger is more demanding at the moment than mine. I was perplexed that his thirst inspires such deep guilt to saturate his being, especially since he is dining on animals tonight, and he has never had any scruples about killing them for food, but I am not allotted any more time to ponder this, for as soon as he had completed his nod, he darted out of the bushes with lightning speed towards the unsuspecting mammal in the valley below.

I beamed ecstatically as I watched him action, thrilled to finally see the civilized man hunt and experience the rare privilege of witnessing that savage side him which he so desperately tried to hide from everyone, even himself. As he raced along the hilly ground after the creature, his long powerful strides carrying him great distances, I marveled at his single-minded focus on the beast as it spotted him, and futilely bolted in an attempt to escape. He chased the creature over the wet grass for a while, the dewy mist he kicked up spraying brilliant eight-color rainbows into the air, before he suddenly sprung from a deep crouch, rapidly closing the distance between him and the frightened animal as he sailed mesmerizingly through the air. Grappling the furry torso in a bone-crushing grip, he quickly subdued his prey, pinning the poor creature to the ground fiercely with his bare hands, and without hesitation he buried his head deep in the animal's neck.

I watched in anxious fascination as he savagely drank from the beast, which twitched violently in pain as Carlisle's toxic venom entered its bloodstream, and was pleased that my friend had not entirely lost touch with his feral side after all—for I worried that a complete repression of the wildness in him, which was inherent to all vampires, would eventually cause him to rage out of control from the pressure of holding it back. And while his ravenous biting and slurping was perhaps not the best way to embrace this particular aspect of him, I was gratified that even with his profound hatred of anything so unbridled and destructive, he would at least concede to his instincts in the heat of the moment. It gave me hope that there was something natural, something relatable about him after all.

My contentment was shattered, however when the direction of the slight evening breeze suddenly shifted, and I was assaulted with the putrid odor of animal blood clashing with the air—a caustic, rotten smell, somewhat reminiscent of moldy gutter-water, sour milk, and rancid lemons. A sudden, violent queasiness seized me in response to the abhorrent scent, and although I try to simply shake off my extreme, unexplained disgust, I was eventually forced to wrinkle my nose to alleviate the stench, and wait impatiently for Carlisle to finish.

When he finally finished with his nauseating meal, I suppressed the urge to heave a sigh of relief as he apathetically casted the beast aside, reached swiftly into his trouser pocket, and daintily wiped the blood beading on his lips and chin with a lacy white handkerchief.

The scene was so jarring—his sudden concession to etiquette such a stark contrast with his earlier barbarism—that I forgot my worries and bursted into uncontrollable laughter.

High, manic cackles escaped my pale lips, as I was humored by my mind's preservation of the image of Carlisle's self-conscious gesture—a gesture much more befitting at a French dinner party then in the lawless forests of Tuscany—and my chest shook heartily as I realized that the contrast is quite characteristic of the strange vampire. Carlisle had frequently amused me during his stay thus far with his unwavering insistence on following human etiquette, even in places where it seems foolish to apply—such as now. Certainly I understood that one's face needed to be cleaned after feeding, but I usually performed the task with my tongue—completely unconcerned with how animalistic it might appear—and not a delicate scrap of cloth!

"Aro," Carlisle said with mild annoyance, and an embarrassed look crossed his downcast face, which seemed to suggest his cheeks would have been painted with a deep rouge blush, had he been human. "Your laughter is scaring away your meal."

"Oh but this is simply too much to bear," I defended, still roaring with laughter. "Your mannerisms… they are so _human_ despite your vampiric actions. The combinations is…" I trailed off for dramatic effect, and Carlisle raised his eyebrows at the theatrics, "…simply hilarious!" I finished, staring a whole new round of wild, high-pitched laughter.

Carlisle offered a small smile. "I am glad you find me entertaining, Aro."

But after only a few seconds, his expression suddenly became deadly serious. "Let us get you something to drink, shall we?" he suggested, his words effortlessly polite, but his tone betrayed his commanding impatience, which shocked me, as the generous man was usually unhurried in every situation and I saw no particular reason to rush—for we had the entire night to hunt.

Troubled, I ceased my laughter immediately and agreed with a slow nod to remain silent until I fed, watching with worry as Carlisle slunk slowly back behind the bushes were I stood, and absolutely refused to look me in the eye. I was about to enquire in a small whisper about his uncanny shift in demeanor, but the opportunity to do so vanished, as another deer came before us, this one a large buck, rather than a medium-sized doe, and began to graze on the dewy grasses, oblivious to the presence of two deadly predators watching its every move.

I twisted my head rapidly towards Carlisle, to ascertain if this was acceptable game to pursue, but as my long ebony locks swirled around me and settled perfectly over the ornate lapels of my tailcoat, and my curious eyes searched out his familiar face, I was greeted with the sight of the back of his head. Unwilling to confront him in his perplexingly volatile emotional state, I suddenly decided that I, Aro of the Volturi did not need his approval to select my prey. I could make that decision on my own—thank you very much.

Careful to be as stealthy as possible, I mimicked Carlisle's movements as I sprinted into the wide clearing, lunging at the appropriate time in my hot pursuit of the desperately fleeing creature, and pinning it easily to the grassy floor—a loud _snap_ echoing through the countryside as I smashed several of the animal's bones against the unforgiving ground. The beast wriggled in agony, and as it bucked uselessly against my incredible strength I hesitated, utterly repulsed by the foul, stomach-churning smell it emitted, enhanced ten-fold by its increased proximity. _Did I really want to eat something that merely the scent of it made me want to vomit? _I considered, troubled by the intensity of my distaste for something I had not yet even tried.

Determined to at least try it, before I decried it entirely, I lunged, sinking my teeth deep into the deer's furry neck, and began to lap slowly at the liquid which poured out of the wound, hoping beyond hope that the taste I would soon discover would not be nearly as disagreeable as the smell. However, I was profoundly disappointed when the hot blood which spilled into my mouth was not only worse than the smell, but was ever fouler than I had experienced in Carlisle's mind. It was truly a ghastly flavor!

Unable to bear it any longer, I immediately tore my mouth away from the beast, doubled over against my will and violently spewed it out—a fountain of dark red spurting from my lips into the lush grass, and all over my clothes. Ignoring the dark stain spreading over my expensive shirt and jacket, the thrashing creature beneath me and the liquid gushing wastefully from its neck, I choked on the last remaining drops stuck in my throat and I lighted off my prey, abandoning it bleeding to death in the valley to search out of the nearest source of water.

I needed to wash every last drop of horrible substance out of my throat—_now_.

…

I was bent over a small, trickling stream, and my fancy garments and once-immaculate hair were totally soaked with the clear, fresh water when Carlisle eventually caught up to me, and surveyed my dripping, gasping form on the saturated banks with an unreadable expression. By repeatedly throwing myself into the stream, swallowing a mouthful of water, and gargling it harshly in my mouth before spitting it back out, I had managed to finally erase the last vestiges of the blood from my throat, but the horrid taste was still painfully vibrant in my mind, and although I knew Carlisle would vigorously disapprove, I desperately wanted to drink human blood right now to utterly delete it from my memories. They way he was looking at me was slowly killing this desire though—his eyes were shining like he was about to cry, and although the action was physically impossible for vampires, it stunned me that my reaction had elicited such strong feelings in him.

"…It was not to your liking…" Carlisle's voice was tight, pained, and grief-stricken, as though my rejection of his revolting diet was a lethal, personal injury—that I had somehow betrayed him by spitting out his humble offering, despite the fact that I had not consciously chosen to do so, but rather my gag-reflex had kicked in and done the spewing for me.

As I stared into his bright golden eyes, which were shining with deep hurt, I was at a complete loss for what to say. He looked positively miserable, like a kicked puppy, and I wanted nothing more than to drag him into a fierce, warm embrace and console him with soothing words—but I had no kind words to offer. Nothing that was true, anyway, and it was strictly against my code of ethics to lie unnecessarily.

While turning over every possible, truthful statement I could speak to him in my mind, searching out the appropriate way to express my sorrow that this did not work out, without deceiving him into perceiving that I had rejected his ways deliberately, or lying that I possessed any desire to attempt to drink animal blood again, I took the opportunity to regard the changes Carlisle's recent meal had wrought on him. It was disturbing that as my eyes roved over his face, I realized that his skin still had the sickly, slightly greenish hue from before and the dark purple splotches underneath his eyes had not lightened in the slightest. There was a light dusting of lavender circling around my eyes (a tribute to that fact that I never slept) but it was barely a shade darker than my alabaster skin—the circles under Carlisle's eyes, however, were a disturbing, deep grape color, which I had only seen before once, when Caius and I had locked a criminal vampire in our dungeons and starved him to death to see if such a thing was possible for our kind.

_Could it be… that despite his recent feeding, Carlisle was still thirsty? _I wondered, awestruck at the horrifying possibility. _Perhaps I am simply missing something_, I tried to reassure myself.

Carlisle shifted nervously under my deep scrutiny, and I noticed as he fidgeted that he still had that lethargic air about him—the subtle lack of grace and speed he had exhibited when I had easily passed him in our jovial race out of the castle to get here. Although it was clear from the rigid line of his shoulders that he had regained some of his strength, I got the impression that the nutrients he had obtained from his hunting tonight were only barely enough to keep him on his feet, to keep him at half, or perhaps even a quarter of his potential strength. However, what most obviously indicated his continued thirst in my mind was his continued fidgeting, which did not seem to stem entirely from my endless staring, but rather seemed to come from an internal struggle as he wrestled with something inside him. The agitated way his gold eyes flickered at every possible indication of movement, at every rustle of leaves and snapping twig which echoed in the night, reminded me of the way Caius behaved when his thirst remained unsatisfied for too long—the snowy-haired vampire would get antsy and would turn sharply at the slightest provocation.

And if Carlisle, being such a gentle-hearted creature, was bearing any resemblance, no matter how slight, to the most animalistic member of the Volturi, this diet was definitely not working as it should.

Desperately needing to know what was really going on, and also hoping to soothe my friend, I drew my hand up to touch his face, cupping his chin softly, and through my gift, was suddenly assaulted with the memories of his recent feast. I ignored the details of the hunt, and focused instead on the aftermath, feeling his nigh-immediate satisfaction after the nauseating blood had filled his stomach. Confused by the quelling of his fiery thirst that I felt in his memories, and the disconnect between the sensation of complete relief and the symptoms of ravaging starvation which still marred his features, I was about to pull away and question why this was so, when his memories caught up to the present, and I began to experience was he was experiencing, _right now_, along with him.

I gasped as I was suddenly seized with a sharp, incomprehensible pain. To say his throat was on fire, or felt as though it had been horribly scratched by thorns was wholly inadequate to describe the sensation—his… and since I was in his memories it was also, my, throat seemed to have been split open in several places, and hot cattle prods were raking mercilessly against the raw, jagged edges. I felt his nearly insurmountable desire to claw at the burning in his neck, and I very nearly released him in order to claw wildly at my own, the pain was so intense.

As I retained our contact, despite the torture of doing so, images of Carlisle standing triumphantly amidst miles and miles of blood-soaked human bodies invaded my mind—his body's "helpful" fantasies, I realized, the scene so vivid and startling that even I—who felt no guilt in taking human life—recoiled in horror at the prospect of so much wasteful slaughter.

But just as abruptly as the gruesome pictures and scorching torture had seized me, I felt something within Carlisle shift infinitesimally, and suddenly the images and sensations were totally different—the thirst had vanished almost completely, reduced to a dull hum, and the cruel fantasies were painted over with despairing images of Carlisle roasting in some bottomless fiery pit somewhere, which I presumed to be his rather colorful conception of Hell. After the unexpected shift, Carlisle still looked visibly pained, but I understood that his reasons for being so were entirely different—a profound fear of hellfire and a mild tingle in his throat made him sullen now, rather than guilt over brutal fantasies and blazing thirst stronger than anything I had ever felt.

I marveled at what I had experienced and scoured his recent thoughts to scrounge back up the wild thirst and disturbing images which had just assaulted me moments before, but strangely, as I wracked his mind, I was unable to find them. They were no longer there—nor in any other part of his lifetime of thoughts, from the earliest moments of mortal lucidity, to the most recent moments in this forest with me. They were completely erased—no, _replaced_—as though they had never happened.

I continued to hold his face, and was further horrified to discover that this was not simply a one-time event, but rather an on-going process, of deleting his present experiences as soon as they slipped into the past, and replacing them with more pleasant memories. The agony of unsatisfied thirst would overtake him in the present, but as soon as possible, they were written over by virtue of his gift with sensations and thoughts which were, despite the terror that they inspired in me, I supposed, easier for the troubled vampire to bear.

I initially wondered why, if we was going to use his abilities to change his own memories, why he did not simply replace his thirst with contentment, until I recalled from his mind that he was incapable of changing the emotional sentiment behind an event he altered—so in order to explain away the constant guilt, longing, and discomfort, he had to invent something equally disturbing to him to logically fill in the gaps. And to this devout, faithful soul, the only conceivable thing which even compared to the distress caused by his thirst, was the horrifying vision of eternal damnation.

Suddenly his subconscious choice of imagined hellfire made sense, for both his conception of the place and the thirst he was tormented with were vividly painful and fiery, but it also struck me as horribly ironic—Carlisle was terrified of Hell, and yet, unbeknownst to him he was already living in it.

Oh how badly I wanted to release him from his anguish.

Carlisle suddenly swallowed audibly, drawing me quickly out of his thoughts.

"Aro…" he said nervously, starting to get extremely uncomfortable with my prolonged touching of his face, as though he worried that the elongation of my innocent contact was meant to indicate that I harbored inappropriately amorous feelings for him. I almost laughed at the thought—while Carlisle certainly was a handsome fellow, I had already pledged my absolute, eternal fidelity to another, and would never cross over the line which separated a deep friendship from a sexual relationship with the man. Of course, because of our different upbringings, my conception of what physical contact was acceptable between friends, and what was reserved solely for my spouse was rather different than his—and I often made Carlisle uncomfortable with amicable embraces and quick pecks, which were innocently platonic in my mind, but gave a very different impression to him. I had made it very clear in the beginning of our stay that I was not intending to tease him, or pursuing an affair with him, but rather I saw no reason for my marriage to interfere with non-sexual physicality between us. I was a touchy-feely kind of person, and Carlisle was one of the few who never initially rejected my touch—not matter how strange or intrusive it was to him—and so I wanted to take advantage of that as much as I could.

Now was no different. Carlisle was uncomfortable with my prolonged proximity, and looked almost ready to begin squirming in my complacent grasp, when I suddenly released my wet hand from his face and drew back.

"No… I am afraid that I did not appreciate the taste," I responded finally, making no effort to hide my true, bitterly loathing attitude towards the substance I had just consumed. "How _can_ you drink that?"

Carlisle looked down, sadness evident in his features.

"Perhaps after living on human blood for so long, you have grown accustomed to it. Animal blood is all I have ever known," Carlisle offered weakly, as though even his own understanding of the physiological effects of his strange diet were very nebulous, despite having lived this way for several years now. Upon hearing his tenuous explanation, I decided that if Carlisle rejected my attempts at persuasion and persisted in his unhealthy ways that I would study and document all the adverse side effects of his condition in extreme detail, so that he would finally be unable to deny the truth that in his compassion he was starving. I desperately hoped that he would listen to me tonight and abandon this silly charade he was putting on, but my insatiable curiosity in regards to how he had lived this long in this manner had me hopelessly torn.

I had surmised from this experience that there must be trace nutrients in animal blood which were barely keeping him alive, but he was as far as could be from satisfied. I also supposed that the old adage that "one will eat anything when they're starving" applied here as well—which would explain why the deer blood had appealed to him, and not to me while I was only beginning to feel the irritating tingling of hunger. And if that was so, that meant that Carlisle was living perpetually on the brink of death—his vivid delusions the only reason for his outward appearance of sanity—his ravenousness so intense that he would eat literally anything to sustain himself, no matter how horrid.

I suddenly felt the need to rectify this situation, for although I had not known him for long, Carlisle was my friend.

And friends do not let friends starve themselves.


	11. Chapter 10: Trials and Errors

**AN: So I wrote and rewrote this chapter probably a million times, and I ended up splitting it in half, even though I cut out probably just as much as I have written here. The other half will be posted as soon as its polished. I'm sorry if it seems either too long, or too rushed, but I struggled a lot with this one-there's so much that goes on, and so much information to give, but I also don't want to bore you guys by dragging it out too much.**

**Sometimes I think I need to post a collection of one-shots that are the scenes I ended up removing from this fic. I have, like over 22,000 words worth of material. A lot of it is crap, but there are some really funny and great moments, which simply didn't make the cut because I needed to keep the plot focused and moving. **

**Anyway, w****atch out guys, if you're not careful Carlisle will reject your reality and substitute his own… literally. :P**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Trials and Errors<strong>

When Carlisle and I had at last returned from our unsuccessful attempt at quelling our thirst with the blood of deer, I immediately pulled him aside in one of the empty corridors of the vast labyrinth of our underground castle, and after quickly ascertaining that we were well and truly alone, I begun to express my deep concerns, in regards to his steadily deteriorating health. As I delivered an aggrieved explanation of what I had witnessed in his mind through my gift—specifically his continuing agony of thirst in the present, and the curious manner in which it disappeared altogether from his thoughts as soon as the moment slipped into the past—Carlisle appeared to listen intently, occasionally offering the barest of nods to indicate that he was following my account. His tiny inclinations of the head, I later learned, were _not_ indications of his agreement with my theories, but understandably I misconstrued them as such, and was heartened greatly that my dear friend appeared to believe me from only a few smooth syllables spilling elegantly over my lips.

When I finished my theatrical recounting of recent events, and politely requested that Carlisle relate his thoughts on the matter, however, my hasty hopes were quickly dashed to infinitesimal fragments. Carlisle not only refused to accept the horrifying truth that he was deluding himself, but also utterly denounced the entire notion that self-memory-modification was even theoretically possible without his being aware of it. Visibly distraught by his total, and wholly unexpected rejection, though still retaining my flawless, tactful delicacy, I ardently struggled to justify my revelation, by first sincerely reiterating that my gift had never lied to me before, then by second informing him that logically, since his powers were activated by physical touch and a desire for the one he touched to remember something differently, that he—by virtue of being himself, and thus always in physical contact with himself—could, theoretically alter his own memories with the tiniest, most unconscious of desires to forget.

But for all its evident merit, Carlisle passionately disagreed with my sound rationalization, and somewhat irately insisted that his memories of his thirst's satisfaction as a result of drinking animal blood were one-hundred-percent genuine. And as he protested my well-developed reasoning he even displayed the shocking audacity to insinuate that perhaps I was spinning falsehoods myself in order to deceptively coerce him into changing his ways. I venomously retorted that I would never stoop so low as to manipulate my friend with such an underhanded move—not to mention that if Carlisle's thirst was genuinely satisfied, I would have absolutely no issue with him drinking the blood of beasts. This temporary lapse in anger management was costly, however, as our formerly strained, but still rather polite conversation quickly spiraled into a heated, howling confrontation, complete with our incensed voices raised to piercing decibels, deep, gutter snarls, and even a small degree of seizing each other forcefully by the collar to emphasize our points as our bellowed arguments echoed cacophonously off the cool stone walls.

We argued zealously back and forth in the vacant corridor for some time, each rebuttal growing more fierce, wrathful, and mindless as the deep importance this subject had in our hearts whittled away mercilessly at our tempers, until I realized, while both of my powerful hands were tightly fisted in the coarse fabric of Carlisle's threadbare cotton shirt, that we were getting absolutely nowhere with this.

It was my word against his—my memories through my mental gift, versus his memories through his.

And unless we had a way to share our perceptions through an objective third party—which we did not—we would be utterly unable to solve this conflict through our own recollections alone.

Halting in my violent shaking of his person, I slowly lowered the vampire in my tenacious grasp back to his black-booted feet, and unwound my fingers from the rough folds of his clothing, before inclining my head downwards ever so slightly in silent apology, and floating back a step to survey the damage I wrought upon him in my compassionate rage. As my eyes flashed worriedly over the significantly tousled, but otherwise intact vampire, Carlisle merely stood stunned by the sudden termination of my assault, and pressed his lips together in a hard line while slowly flickering his eyelids shut—an expression which was his all-too-familiar way of showing that he was displeased with himself: this time for allowing himself to get so carried away in his anger as to result in such an unsightly scuffle between us.

I wanted to sigh in exasperation—honestly, if there was any one of us which should take the blame for what had just transpired, it should be me, for I had been utterly insensitive in regards to his moral compunctions against killing humans, and only been thinking of his physical well-being, wholly ignoring the important factor of his spiritual self-contentment. But if there was one thing that Carlisle trumped every other living thing at, it was taking upon himself guilt that rightfully belonged to someone else.

"I… deeply apologize… I have no idea what came over me… I—" Carlisle stammered out desperately, his disheveled form suddenly overcome with distressingly intense fear, most likely of the retribution he expected from me for what he perceived to be "insubordination" on his part, before I gently raised a single, forbidding palm to silence him. "Shh…" I whispered softly, caressing Carlisle's cheeks with my cool breath, slowly placing a single finger over Carlisle's pale lips, which were frozen open, mid-apology, and settling my other hand peacefully against his tense left shoulder, which immediately relaxed in response to the comforting weight. "There is no need to apologize. It is rather clear that we are of a different mind on this subject, and heaven knows we are both extremely stubborn men," I offered reassuringly, the corner of my mouth tugging into a knowing smirk as I mused on the fierce, unyielding manner to which we both stuck to our convictions, and the hand pressed to his lips sliding beneath his pale chin to stroke it tenderly.

"Besides," I breathed quietly in continuation, pausing for a brief moment to consider my next choice of words carefully, while I consciously exerted effort to direct my relaxing pheromones to encourage Carlisle to become comfortable in my presence, an effort which proved to be extremely successful as all the residual tension in his nervous figure rapidly vanished. "…if there is anyone who should apologize in this situation, it should be me," I finished, splaying a deeply apologetic hand over the splotchy, bloodstained frilly red shirt I still wore from our hunt, to clearly demonstrate my profound regret over my recent ungentlemanly behavior, and allowing a sorrowful light to sparkle in my dark burgundy eyes to ensure he was aware of the sincerity of my declaration.

Carlisle's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers—clearly it had never occurred to him that it was I who had trespassed more greatly than he—even though it was, from my perspective, blatantly obvious that, even with my profound fatherly concern for his reckless endangerment to his health, I should have approached the topic more delicately. Of course, in a way, I was also secretly apologizing for what I was about to say next, for I realized, upon seeing his wrathful reaction, and hearing his suspicions that I was attempting to coerce him, that the only way to restore trust between us was for me to rescind the revelation of his self-delusion. I positively hated the idea of lying to him, especially about something so important, but it was now obvious that if I continued to express my opinion that his perceptions were false and mine were true, the clashing realities in our minds would lead him to suppose that I was either a raving lunatic, or a manipulative hypocrite.

And that would totally discredit, in his eyes, any attempt to sway him to feed differently, no matter how logical—he would never believe that he was starving himself if he thought that I was either lying to him, or insane.

Determined to rescue my friend from his self-inflicted torture, but understanding and accepting that such a thing was most certainly not going to happen overnight, I lied smoothly that I had been "mistaken" in my observation that he was utilizing his powers to alter his memories of his thirst, ferociously beating back the horrible, rotten feeling that was creeping into my chest. I justified my previous "erroneous" judgment by stating that when our skin had connected that I had merely confused the sensations of my own unsatisfied thirst with his, but asserted that in that hindsight the two were easily distinguishable. This justification would have been utterly implausible to anyone who had an intimate understanding of my gift—for when I was in the mind of someone else I lost all physical awareness of my own body and became wholly them, and could only vaguely restore my sense of touch, and my motor capacities with great concentration, (feeling my own thirst was utterly beyond me) but Carlisle, only having known me for a few short days, accepted my story easily.

The rancid, piercing guilt accumulating in my heart, persisted for a moment, before it was almost entirely overshadowed by the incredible joy that my deception had almost instantaneously patched our friendship—for as soon as I admitted "fault", Carlisle embraced me enthusiastically, and announced his honest intention to forgive all the negativity which had fallen between us tonight. Our earlier truce to never forcible coerce the other to change their feeding habits was amicably reinstated, and as we parted ways to don clean clothes and reconfigure our mussed appearances, I was content that his positive opinions of me—which would be absolutely necessary to eventually convince him of his folly—had been restored.

It still troubled me that he would suffer through something as dreadfully calamitous as starvation for a while longer, but as I laid the subject to rest, and we instead pursued rousing discussions about philosophy, religion, science, art and medicine, pouring over ancient texts together in the spacious marble halls of our labyrinthine library, and putting our theories to the test in the dungeon catacombs, for the next several weeks, I began to worry less for him.

Despite his unanswered dissatisfaction, and resulting physical weakness, he appeared to have a vibrant vitality about him, granted largely by the fact that he did not have to take human life, and was free to enjoy the perks of immortality without significant damage to his acute conscience. His bright smiles and unburdened heart—excepting the passing moments when his thirst became unbearable, and his mind replaced his agony with the harrowing fear of hellfire—were delightful to behold, and as weeks bled into months I started to loath the idea of disrupting the apparent peace Carlisle had with his current existence. His physical health was still in high question—for I doubted that his body would continue to ravage him with thirst if all was well, but he appeared to have enough strength to easily best humans, at the very least, and made no complaint about his relative weakness in comparison to my guard, so I left the topic alone for a long time.

I briefly entertained notions of bringing it up again, as I felt his unanswered pain through my gift, but as the months slipped past, the matter of our varying food sources was remained almost wholly unmentioned between us, for I did not want to upset the man whom I was growing to love as brother, and he seemed perfectly content with his situation. And so I decided, at least for a time, to allow him to live in ignorant bliss—whenever he declared his intention to hunt I remained utterly neutral, betraying none of my internal horror over the prospect of consuming something so foul. And he extended the same courtesy, refraining from any impolite speech when I offered him access to our accumulation of human remains for scientific research, and informed him that I had "matters to attend to" when I left his presence to feed in the throne room bi-monthly.

All-too-quickly, those amicable months had bled into years, and the years bled into two decades, and, because of Carlisle's great appreciation for our lasting truce, and the extreme pleasantness of our encounters, I was almost content to continue in this manner of interaction with him forever—having our inhuman likeness captured by the renowned, and all-too-excited-to-paint-us, mortal artist Francesco Solimena, and living with no quarrel between us, even as we dissected the corpses I had fed upon.

Almost.

But as I grazed his cheek with my pale knuckles today while announcing my imminent departure, in order to attend the regularly scheduled feast, and watched him turn his head gently away to avert his golden eyes from my gaze, I was reminded of why this could not persist eternally—for I felt his blazing agony and overwhelming bloodlust with disturbing force as he struggled with himself to keep himself firmly planted in his seat. Through the bond we shared in those fleeting moments of contact, I knew that deep inside, he fervently wanted to join us—for his thoughts in the present, unadulterated by his overactive subconscious, were full of vivid depictions of him wildly slaughtering and consuming the entire party of mortals brought into the fortress by himself. But outwardly he absolutely refused to acknowledge those things, to accept the reality that he was overwhelmed with natural urges, and that there was no shame in satisfying them in the manner they were designed to be satisfied.

And while my fingers lifted away from his cool skin, I was once again stricken with a fierce desire to show him in a manner that was wholly incontestable how utterly unhealthy and self-destructive his current diet was. I certainly hoped that our wonderfully blossoming friendship would not have to be sacrificed in the process, and as I stood authoritatively amidst the gathering crowd of vampires in one of the castle turrets, I began thinking of ways to broach the topic again, albeit with much more delicacy, and from a slightly different angle, so as to not cause Carlisle to mistrust me again.

As I rose my hands towards the vaulted ceiling and spoke the last words the humans congregated in this room would ever hear, "Welcome to Volterra!" I immediately realized that the only way to prove the truth to Carlisle was to conduct a proper experiment—to test his unorthodox diet on others, and compare their health with the health of myself and my guard. It was not perhaps the easiest thing to arrange—I would need to acquire several newborn vampires in order to perform it properly—but an experiment was certainly a fabulous idea, for it was one that Carlisle was extremely likely to accept, and one that would not only demonstrate to him, in a manner he could not deny, his own difficulties, but one which would satisfy my curiosity as well.

Through an experiment, I could unveil _all_ of the side-effects, not simply the obvious ones, of living on animal blood.

…

Carlisle's eyes sparkled with delight. "An experiment?" He asked, his voice halfway skeptical and halfway ecstatic as he leaned forward anxiously in his seat in the wooden chair directly opposite mine, across a fine mahogany desk, littered with thick ancient volumes, feather pens, and tightly sealed inkpots, his athletic frame straining against the costly apparel I had outfitted him with. "Did you not already prove for yourself decades ago that my ways are folly in your eyes?" He enquired excitedly, his whole being clearly burning with the hope that I still harbored the desire to "amend my murderous ways," and the ink-stained quill in his right hand twirling eagerly between his dexterous fingers.

I closed my crimson eyes and shook my head slowly, my long black hair tossing distractingly as I clarified my meaning. "No, I will not be drinking the blood of beasts…" I asserted firmly, my acidic tone offering no room for debate as I held up a forbidding palm to suggest that I would _never_ partake of the foul substance ever again_, _unless I was somehow overwhelmed by force and it was poured maliciously down my throat"...but I want to see its effects on others, both vampires like myself, who have partaken of mortal blood for centuries, and those who have never tasted mortal blood like yourself, so that we may determine if my long history of human-drinking has simply corrupted me beyond the ability to utilize your method, or if your diet is simply… unsustainable," I explain, maintaining a strictly neutral tone so as to avoid offense as I speak casually of imbibing from humans and reintroduce uncomfortable possibility that his way of living may be deleterious to his health.

"And how might we come to such a conclusion?" He probed further, his curiosity undeterred by my gentle insinuations of doubt as he sets his white feather quill against the reddish wood and interlocks his nimble fingers to signify that I have his full attention.

"Athenodora and Carmen have volunteered," I elucidate, causing two artfully shaped blonde brows to nearly disappear into Carlisle's hairline, and his glittering golden eyes to widen like saucers at my mention of the familiar female names. "And with the recent addition of Eleazar to our coven, I have found several gifted humans which I intend to transform into vampires, who, once I have changed them, I will allow you to keep in the dungeons under observation, and feed them solely in your… unorthodox manner, so that we may see if they suffer any ill effects, or not," I offer, gesturing towards a tall, dark-haired man in a simple black tailcoat standing on the other side of the library, surrounded by a small crowd of twelve, blush-faced mortals, of varying ages, abilities, and manners of dress.

Carlisle blinked quizzically at my suggestion, "You plan to let me use some of your own as guinea pigs?" he exclaimed in utter disbelief, his unusual eyes wide with alarmed surprise, and his dry lips parted by the strain of his unhinged jaw—indeed, it was shocking that I was willing to risk the well-being of one of my own, for I cared for all of those under my charge as though I was their own father. However, it should not have been entirely unexpected, for despite my profound love for both the current and future members of my guard, they were still merely tools in my immense arsenal, to use and dispose of as I saw fit.

"Should your diet really work as you claim, they will face no harm," I offered not only placate him, but also to issue an indirect challenge—_did he really doubt his diet so much that he was unwilling to test it on others?_ I wondered. _Did my violent reaction all those years ago truly shake his faith in it that much?_

Carlisle pursed his lips in response, and his gaze drifted away from mine to survey the gaggle of humans surrounding Eleazar, who were animatedly laughing at some joke he had spoken too quietly for me to discern whilst occupied in this conversation with Carlisle, their blood-filled hearts thundering in our sensitive ears despite the considerable distance between us. His eyes roved over the small party of fragile beings, seeming to survey them with a detached interest, as he determined that there were seven males and five females between the ages of nineteen and thirty five, and tried to postulate what sort of latent powers they might possess which would intrigue me when they became vampires. I sensed in him a profound sadness at the idea that their mortality was swiftly drawing to a close—even though they would not leave this earth when they were bitten—which was locked in ardent combat with his mounting desire to follow through with my request.

He did not want them to be vampires, but knowing I would transform them regardless of his own wishes, I hoped that he would set aside his fervent loathing of his own species, and accept the amazing opportunity I was offering him to prove, or disprove the validity of his way of life.

"I see…" he said contemplatively, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his chin as he considered the appeal and possible downsides to such an arrangement.

"Does this interest you?" I queried hopefully, reaching my anxious hands across the polished wooden surface of the table separating us to rest my fingers softly across the pronounced knuckles of his entwined hands, in order to ascertain his true feelings about the matter. Carlisle made no move to shy away from my touch, but simply remained wholly relaxed and utterly still, his eyelids fluttering closed like two dark butterflies as I barely caress his smooth skin, and his current emotions flood my consciousness.

"Yes. I would appreciate this opportunity very much," he replied firmly, his voice suddenly without the barest hint of hesitance or doubt, and his mind steadfast and unwavering in his desire to comply with my suggestion, despite any possible obstacles along the way. "It would allow me the chance to prove to you that there are in fact other ways one can satisfy their thirst, if one labors hard enough," he says boldly, images of myself in my usual luxurious attire complete with the Volturi crest, though with golden eyes, and surrounded by circles of happy, uneaten mortals, dance fancifully before my eyes—visions of his futile hopes for a future for me absent of my favorite form of bloodshed.

_Oh will it now? I think we shall see a rather different outcome instead… _I thought to myself. But despite my disbelieving inner thoughts, I nodded politely—a slow, shallow bob of my head—and a wicked gleam overtook my features.

"Yes… it will be very interesting indeed."

…

A month had passed since my agreement with Carlisle to allow him to experiment, but during this time the duties of enforcing the laws of the vampire world had regrettably consumed the vast majority of my attention—a large coven living in the London sewers had gotten utterly out of control, openly terrorizing the citizens by leaving their sloppy remains strewn about, and leaving messages written in human blood which blatantly betrayed the secret of their vampiric nature. Having no choice but to leave Carlisle in Volterra with the twelve recent newborns and the few guard members I could spare to leave behind, I departed with a large party to ruthlessly exterminate the trespassers of the law, and we spent the next several weeks tracking down and destroying the coven which had scattered wildly across the continent in response to our sudden arrival, as well as discreetly disposing of any human witnesses we encountered along the way.

It had been an arduous process, but with the assistance of Demetri's tracking abilities, and Jane and Alec's debilitating gifts, the coven's foolish attempt to escape our wrath proved ultimately futile. In time justice was duly served to all but three—whom my gift proved to be uninvolved in their companions' recent flagrant disrespect for the most important rule of our existence. Despite Caius' protests, I spared them, for not only did I despise such wasteful slaughter, but I knew that they would certainly tell any other vampires they encountered during their future travels of the tale of the London coven's destruction, which would serve as an excellent warning to the rest of the vampire world not to cross us, unless one sincerely desired to be brutally ripped apart.

Now that I had returned to Italy from our important excursion, I was eager to see the progress my friend Carlisle had made with the experiment—for the gifted humans had only barely awoken as vampires when I was called away, and, due to a few unforeseen complications, it had been nearly a month since I had set foot within the vast fortress. I was confident that nothing had gone seriously wrong, since none of my brothers or sisters whom I had left behind, or the human servants we housed in this castle to manage our affairs with human governments and banks had rushed at me to inform me of any ill news, but nonetheless I wished to determine the results of the experiment thus far, immediately.

I positively loathed the idea of remaining in the dark about the crucial matter for any longer.

Swiftly donning my white lab coat, and quickly ascertaining that the clothes underneath bore no obvious evidence of any recent violence, I rushed to tall spiral stairwell into the dungeons beneath the castle, and let my agile feet carry me swiftly down its numerous steps to meet my friend in our prearranged location. As I reached the bottom of the winding path and bolted into the dank dungeon corridor, my eyes instantaneously adjusted to the dim torchlight which illuminated the walls, and sought out Carlisle amidst the sizable gathering of cloaked vampires which filled my vision.

A bright white collar and shock of platinum blonde hair stood in stark contrast with the thick sheets of black surrounding him, and a wide, jovial smile overtook my features as the comforting shape instructed the other vampires to move aside to allow him passage, but otherwise retain their posts, and he maneuvered through the cramped hallway to draw closer. Carlisle shyly smiled back, his dark golden eyes briefly flickering disapprovingly over the fierce black military jacket I wore beneath my lab coat, and especially over the infinitesimal, reddish glint over one of the golden buttons, before he forced himself to look away, and then redirected his focus towards my face.

"So, how is the experiment coming along?" I asked cheerfully as I strode powerfully forward, striking a bold silhouette of black and white against the grimy dungeon brick walls, gesturing to the rows of rooms on either side of us, which currently housed the newborns and the two older vampires who agreed to submit themselves willingly to Carlisle's bizarre ways.

"Not as well as I had hoped," Carlisle admited slowly, averting his eyes from my scrutinizing gaze in obvious self-dissatisfaction and gazing instead longingly at the foot-thick, rusted iron doors which sealed away his test subjects, all of which were bolted fiercely shut with several heavy lead beams, and flanked on either side by two cloaked figures to prevent their escape.

My scarlet eyes widen in incredulous curiosity at his succinct confession, and in my sudden impatience to know precisely what in his recent experiences with the vampires under his charge had distressed him, I quickly reached forward and seized one of his idle hands, an action to which he displayed absolutely no resistance, but rather accepted easily with resigned tranquility. As our fingers gracefully entwined, I watched, bedazzled, as his vivid memories of the past month danced before my inquiring eyes, resounded clearly in my keen ears and washed over my sensitive skin, with one frequently reoccurring event standing in stark contrast with the rest. Over and over again, my vision was arrested with images of all fourteen of his test subjects violently spewing out the animal blood he offered them, no matter from which native species it had come, nor the apparent intensity of their own thirst. Carlisle had tested every possible variable in an effort to find something that Athenodora, Carmen and the newborns could swallow, but even as the weeks wore on, and his test subjects began to be less opposed to trying to consume nasty things in their mounting hunger, not a single one was able to choke down more than a few spoonfuls of the foul substance.

"Fascinating," I breathed in awe as I floated back slowly from Carlisle and gradually released his hand, severing the physical and mental contact between us, while my long white coat fluttered slightly in response to the tiny movement. "I understand that they must not appreciate the taste but…" I trailed off in utter disbelief, pressing the tips of my fingers together beneath my chin in deep thought, "…that is their only option to satisfy their thirst," I concluded, astonished that even with no other choice, the vampires under his care would react so negatively to the only fluid which might serve to alleviate some of their pain.

"I know," Carlisle conceded with a grave shake of his head, and wide, sorrowfully shining eyes, "It is distressing."

_Yes, it most certainly was,_ I thought to myself.

"And what do you make of it?" I prodded gently, encouraging Carlisle to speak his pessimistic theories aloud—for they would have far more of a persuasive impact that way—as I strolled slowly towards one of the thick iron doors, and motioned to the guards to remove the thick beams of heavy lead which bolted it shut. As the guards worked together to heft away each of the enormous beams blocking the resident newborn's escape, which, because of the extreme density of the metal, weighed several tons, and thus required two vampires to grip it on either side to remove it, Carlisle frowned miserably in response to my question, before finally parting his lips to speak.

"Perhaps while there is still human blood in their systems… they cannot accept it," He explained somberly, watching intently as the cloaked guards carefully moved in synchronous tandem to lower the rectangular beams against the hard stone floor, rather than meeting my arbitrating, piercing gaze. "It is not that the substances are physically incompatible—I have proven for myself that they are not," he rapidly clarified, a flicker of perilous guilt deeply etching his features for few fractions of a second as he mentioned his recent self-trial of human-blood-animal-blood compatibility, before it was summarily replaced with his comparatively mild lamenting expression. "…but rather it seems that they cannot overcome the taste when their hunger is not yet severe," he concluded finally, with a defeated shrug of his lab-coat-clad shoulders and another grieved shake of his head, clearly upset by the prospect that it might be his extreme hunger, and not simply his profound willpower which allowed him to push past the intense natural disgust the rest of those subjected to his diet experienced.

"Hmm… yes, from your memories I came to a very similar conclusion," I agreed, contented that Carlisle was intelligent enough to acknowledge the setbacks of his methods so quickly, despite his obvious reluctance to accept any faults that could possibly mitigate its appeal. It all made me very curious, for not only was he admitting the downsides of his ways with minimal resistance, in my absence he had also done the one thing he had sworn never to do above all else—he had finally tasted human blood. _What could have possibly changed in the man since I last saw him? Were the results of this experiment really so startling to him that they were effecting him this drastically already?_

I could only hope.

"It is interesting that for the sake of this experiment you decided to drink human blood," I commented bemusedly, and although I had not phrased the statement as a question, the pointedly fascinated look I gave Carlisle left doubt that I was expecting him to answer my subtle query—I was oh so anxious to hear his justification, for the memories of the intriguing incident had been clouded with a paradoxical combination of profound shame and intense pleasure, and I wanted to know which emotion was motivating him more strongly at the moment.

"I did not kill to obtain it," he responded all-too-quickly, with a firm insistence in his voice which suggested that he had initially used the lack of human death to rationalize his indulgence, but had later deeply regretted the decision. "With her consent, I withdrew a small portion from one of your human servants with a medicinal knife and poured it into a goblet, so that there was no contact with my venom," he explained, drawing his hand across his wrist in an incision-like movement to demonstrate what he had done in order to obtain the delicious substance, and trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone and expression as neutral as possible—his voice defensive and ridden with obvious shame, and his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips at the delicious memory.

"She still lives to serve you today," he added swiftly, as though her continued existence was meant to—but did not entirely—justify his decision, before turning his head away, and watching impassively as the last of the three large beams blocking our entrance was placed against the slimy ground, and the guards pressed their shoulders firmly against the exposed surface, slowly pushing open the heavy iron door.

"Of course, but I was surprised, nonetheless," I answered musingly, a delighted, twisted smirk sharply curling the corner of my lips as I gestured for us to enter the room of one of his test subjects which was now open to us. "You enjoyed the taste quite a lot."

I could tell that my last comment struck far too close to home—as I had intended it to—for Carlisle cringed at my casual observance that, despite his moral dissonance on the matter, the wonderful sensation of satisfying his thirst, even to such a small degree with such an infinitesimal portion of human blood, had roused in him such extreme gratification. I knew that it distressed him that something as insignificant in his mind as a delicious taste could have such a overpowering effect on him, but now that he had partaken of the sweet, heavenly substance which put even the most delectable of human delicacies to shame, he could no longer deny it.

"I only drank it because I needed to prove that human blood and animal blood can coexist in our bodies," he remarked defensively, as he rapidly followed me into the dark, chemically odorous chamber and the heavy iron doors were slammed ominously shut behind us, to prevent the escape of the ravenous creature who had taken up residence here for the past month. "But I rather wish I hadn't," he admitted sadly, fixing his dark gold eyes on his modest black heeled shoes, and the ancient stone floor beneath them, in another frustrating display of his cavernous shame in regards to his own body's vast appreciation for what was, even by his definition, a perfectly rational and utterly sinless act.

Honestly—Carlisle needed to work on his guilt-complex.

"Before I could only imagine what I was missing, but now…" he said with a tone of passionate longing, but trailing off mid-sentence, unable to bring his traitorous vocal chords to articulate the final conclusion.

"…You know exactly what you are denying yourself," I finished for him, with an understanding smile, which was bordered on the edge between being reservedly empathetic, and unnervingly ecstatic.

"Precisely," Carlisle breathed in exasperated agreement.

I sighed and shook my head—he honestly needn't be so troubled by the simple fact that human blood appealed to him. He had not transgressed any of his moral strictures, and it was not as though he could help his body's positive reaction to the substance—heaving a contented sigh after feeding properly for the first time since his transformation was hardly worth getting this worked up about.

I understood that his small indulgence was but a tease, the tiniest of taste-tests, and that he worried that the exquisite flavor would seduce him to partake of the whole meal—but I also had learned that Carlisle was not easily tempted. He had been very skilled at managing his natural instincts as a human, a characteristic which had only been enhanced with his transformation, and his abilities as a vampire allowed him to only experience factionary seconds of thirst at a time, which afforded him unmatchable control. I had no doubts that, even in his currently ravenous state, he could drink directly from a human being and stop before he drained them, if he desired it.

It was uncanny.

"If the issue is not compatibility then, but rather simply a matter of not yet being desperate enough to surpass their instinctual revulsion, what does that mean for the next stages of this experiment?" I ask in purely scientific curiosity, as I drifted over to the bed where a young woman, whose name I recalled to be Vera, lied pitifully against the dingy white sheets, stained in erratic, dark splotches with the blood of beasts, her eerily weak-looking hands clutching desperately at the coarse fabric, and her back arched in excruciating pain. The woman rapidly twisted her head to face me as I approached her slowly, her eyes a deep burgundy color, and her expression feral, and yearning, burning with the vain hope that I have come to save her from her puritanical captor.

"Well, I suppose that… if you will allow it… we will have to wait for the residual human blood to leave their tissues before they can bring themselves to accept the blood of beasts," Carlisle said with an equally systematically callous tone, though the frenzied pleading look which suddenly flashed over Vera's thirsty complexion, caused his impassive mask to crack fractionally. "But if this prospect is unacceptable to you…" he offered cautiously, unwilling to invoke my unpredictable wrath out of a healthy fear for his own neck.

"Do not worry yet, Carlisle," I reassured him in my softest, most pleasantly feathery voice while moving to gradually place my hand over Vera's pale wrist, so that I may see the events of the last month from her perspective. "Although it may not be pleasant for either of us to watch my brothers and sisters suffer, I suggest we continue the experiment regardless, so that we can see if it is indeed possible for any other vampire to eventually come to live in the way which you do."

"You do believe your own suffering was worth the rewards, yes?" I interrogated him with a dubious expression, as the traumatic experience of being repeatedly offered only one undrinkable remedy to a confusing, blazing pain, and viciously attacking the guards in a desperate attempt to escape, only to be easily subdued every time and returned to this ghastly prison, invaded my being.

"Absolutely," Carlisle replied resolutely, without the slightest hesitance, and he squared his broad, white-clad shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes, unafraid of what their inhuman color signified as he at last assumed a confident stance. "Although the pain was almost unbearable, being able to live without taking human lives… that is such a comfort to me," he said genuinely, a stunning, bright joyfulness glittering in his dark, red-flecked eyes as he placed a contented hand over his heart to physically demonstrate the weight that is lifted off his conscience by virtue of living without knowing the spiritual trauma of killing mortals.

"Then should we not continue this experiment, no matter the costs, correct?" I queried, trying to use his own line of reasoning to persuade him to continue—for if we stopped now, the terrible pain I had put Vera and the others through would ultimately prove to have been neglectfully wasteful.

Vera choked out a pitiful, dry gasp, in an attempt to protest, but both Carlisle and I apathetically ignored her.

"Yes," he responded firmly, refusing to even glance in the direction of his immortal guinea pig, who was now clawing fiercely at her own throat, and writhing with equal ferocity—somewhat from actual pain, and somewhat from a futile attempt to invoke Carlisle's acute pity.

"Very well," I conceded, with a short acquiescing nod, indicating plainly that I was giving Carlisle primary charge over this matter, before I suddenly slipped my hand away from Vera's tiny wrist, and glided away from her dilapidated bedside. "I will be visiting you as often as occasion permits to check up on your progress," I informed him seriously, motioning for Carlisle to restrain Vera as I fluidly moved across the ancient stone to make my exit, and knocking gently against the surface of the iron door with the back of my hand, to inform the guards outside that I was ready to leave.

"I will not disappoint you," he promised, calling out to me with a firmly convicted voice, as the heavyweight doors incrementally parted, and his nimble fingers clamped tightly around the fiercely struggling woman in his arms, even as her diamond-hard teeth scraped violently at his arms, rapidly ripping to ribbons the immaculate sleeves of his lab coat and the frilly shirt he wore beneath it.

I spun on my fancy heeled shoes to give him a lingering, deeply incredulous look, before rapidly turning back to the spiral stairwell to ascend out of the dungeons. "We shall see…"


	12. Chapter 11: Red vs Gold

**AN: So this is sort of chapter 10 part 2. It was way too long to post both together, though, so I decided to post it as a separate chapter. There's so much information to get through-two decades of friendship totally glossed over, and months of observations and research to compile together, but I promise to try and cut to the chase as quickly as possible. **

**Eventually, we will get back to Bella, but for now we've got some important things to learn about "vegetarianism" first.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: Red vs. Gold<strong>

"It has been four months since we began this experiment. Tell me, dearest Carlisle, how are our dear brothers and sisters doing?" I asked with menacing politeness as we once again convened in the dungeons to discuss the progress of my rather underhanded method to convince him of the unhealthiness of his ways.

Carlisle sighed heavily, "Not well," he said with profound sadness and a mournful shake of his head, his smoothly combed back hair rustling slightly at the movement. "I have given them every type of animal blood Italy has to offer and… not a single test subject has shown any signs of reduced thirst," he lamented, motioning with outstretched arms in a manner which seemed to be imploring me for the answer behind this miserable calamity. "All fourteen of them eat up whatever I give them eagerly, despite the taste, but they are irritable, weak, and when they use their powers abundantly, the situation is only aggravated further," he finished with his lips pressed into a firm, compassionately distressed line, and his eyes desperately searching mine to see if I had any clue as to why such unexpected (in his mind) results were manifesting themselves.

"Ah yes, I had noticed that," I responded with a gentle sigh while clasping my potent hands together in front of the dimly glittering Volturi crest lying against the lacy white cravat hanging from my neck. "Vera is doing particularly poorly with the drain her miraculous powers have exerted on her," I remarked with obvious, threatening displeasure, giving Carlisle the coldest of disapproving stares to clearly convey my extreme malcontent with her needlessly continued suffering, causing the tiny hairs on the back of his neck to prickle in apprehension, and a nervous gulp to pass through his throat.

"Yes," he agreed, deeply troubled by the unrelenting agony he had witnessed in her over the past several months, "When you asked her to restore the arm that Caius lost to a Child of the Moon some millennia ago, I did not believe she could do it," he confessed, his momentous shock and awe over that Vera's abilities extended so far as to be able to regrow an entire missing appendage from merely a jagged stub, replaying over his pale features as he recalled the phenomenal incident. "Although it seems to have taken quite the toll on her system," he added sorrowfully, gesturing slowly towards the thick iron door behind which she lied, the sound of wearily scratching fingernails against the inner walls, and guttural, dry-throated howls, penetrating the thick substance due to their exceeding volume. "Whatever nutrients animal blood have… they are apparently not enough to satisfy her while she uses her powers."

_That was the understatement of the century—it was like saying that Caius's lost arm had only been a scratch. _

"And the others?" I asked, gesturing broadly to the rest of the foreboding, lead-bolted dungeon cells in this ancient, begrimed hallway, with gracefully sweeping, lab-coat-covered arms.

"Athenodora and Carmen are doing relatively well, since they have no powers, and Heinrich is doing alright, since his powers are mental, rather than physical," Carlisle responded with relative optimism, pointing a sallow index finger in the direction of their individual rooms in which they were confined for the duration of this cruel experiment as he mentioned their names. "But the rest have mostly physical gifts, which seem to take a greater toll when combined with… insufficient nutrition," he added with another heavy sigh, and a worriedly perplexed shrug of his shoulders.

My eyebrows rose at his subtle, but profound confession. "You admit that it is insufficient, then?" I probed enthusiastically, hoping to compel him to openly acknowledge the glaring pitfalls of his way of living, so that I could more quickly persuade him to abandon his preposterous diet and join me in the hall of human slaughter when the time came.

"For those with physical gifts, at least," he clarified warily upon seeing my disconcertingly excited expression, holding up a hesitant, forbidding hand, to silently reaffirm that his recent discovery, regrettably, did not apply to himself. "I believe that the evidence speaks for itself rather well—I am not foolish enough to counteract it, even though I do not like it," he explained logically, extending his gentle arm towards me in a silent offering to witness said evidence for myself, and eliciting a small gasp as my soft fingers curled tightly around his.

"Yes, it would be foolish to deny what is right before us," I said as I took in his thoughts since our last encounter, before letting go of him and pressing my hands together in front of my chest while offering Carlisle a knowing glance as to say—_you should not deny that your diet effects you negatively as well._

Carlisle flashed me a dark look, but otherwise ignored my comment and pressed on.

"I still have no idea why my experiences are so profoundly different from theirs, but it is clear to me now that my satisfaction is an anomaly." _Or merely a symptom of your delusion. _I thought to myself, but did not dare voice aloud, for fear that it would entirely destroy Carlisle's vital trust in me.

"The fact that I have a mental gift which I rarely use may account for some of it," he mused aloud, taking his finely chiseled chin between his thumb and forefinger and stroking it slowly, _Oh no, you use it quite often—constantly, actually, _"…but there are still variables that I do not understand," he confessed, circling a single hand lazily in the air above him, as though to direct my eyes towards an invisible, undeterminable set of possibilities which were shrouded from his perception. "Even Carmen, who agreed to try my diet for the same altruistic reasons which drew me to it, struggles in the presence of human blood," he related bewilderedly, his thick blond eyebrows torn between rising to encroach on his forehead, and furrowing deeply into the bridge of his nose, from his despairing confusion. "I have no doubts that if I were to release her, she would eagerly kill to consume it," he conceded remorsefully, wincing as he spoke, as though his mind was playing gruesome images of Carmen doing just that within his sensitive mind. "But I am in much more control. Why?"

I stared, stunned at Carlisle—his eyes were shining with unguarded desperation, and I knew that if I had not expressed such a violent distaste for groveling gestures, that he would be on his knees before me, begging me to impart my ancient wisdom on the matter to shed light on this distressing inconsistency he saw between his test subjects and himself. Seeing his obvious distress, I wanted nothing more than to relate, once again, my discovery of his mental-alteration all those years ago, but we had long since buried that significant topic with two decades of amicable friendship built on the lie that I had been mistaken.

To dredge that up now would destroy everything I had worked for, so instead I simply sheepishly shrugged my shoulders, and said: "I haven't the slightest idea."

...

Upon confirming for myself, through my talent, that animal blood was insufficient to sustain the newborns with physical gifts, I had insisted that they be immediately removed from the experiment, so that I could utilize their powers as frequently as possible, without making them sickly and bedridden, as the diet of animal blood had rendered them. Of course, Carlisle had begged me not to do so and his large shining eyes, pathetically adorable pouting lips, and the intensity of the torment I felt in him through his desperate clutching of my person at the idea of his test subjects marring their souls with the sin of mortal murder, had been very difficult to resist. But in the end I had refused to budge—I needed those with physical powers, Vera especially, to be at their full strength, or else their induction into vampirehood would have been for naught.

And so today, I had cordially invited the eleven sickly vampires in possession of physical powers to dine with myself and the rest of my guard in the throne room. Every single newborn I presented this option to was invariably ecstatic at my announcement that they would be permitted to feed on humans, wholly unaffected by Carlisle's numerous attempts to compel them to feel remorse at the prospect of killing them, a fact which shocked him greatly. Seeing his obvious distress, I had tried to illustrate to him that the test subject's reaction was only natural, but the unintended insinuation that his continued turmoil over the subject of mortal demise was unnatural had led him to leave the room in an angry huff with his white lab coat swirling wrathfully around him. And when he reached the end of the hallway he had slammed the plain wooden door to his chambers so hard against the inner frame that it was reduced to splinters.

I had not spoken to him since then, and although only and hour had passed, I was already dedicatedly contemplating how to shape my apology, eager to preserve the profound friendship we had developed in the two decades we had resided together in this fortress, and horribly unsettled by the idea that Carlisle might once again suppose ill of me because of a single moment of thoughtless tactlessness. It would not do well to approach him now, however, for I had only just barely exited out of the secret paneled wooden door leading to the throne room, and the scent of death was still fresh in the luxurious fibers of my clothes, my lips were stained a brilliant red, and my cheeks were heavily flushed with the evidence of my recent feeding—all of which would only add to Carlisle's vexing sorrow.

However, it seemed that the fates had decided that my own reluctance to approach Carlisle in this state were utterly irrelevant, for as soon as I moved into the dimly lit corridor and began to stride powerfully towards my chambers in order to prepare a bath to rid myself of the unfriendly (to Carlisle, at least) scent which clung to my skin, I nearly bumped directly into him, but instead I halted abruptly in my tracks. Carlisle was sitting forlornly on the stone floor several feet away, with his lean back flush against a cool sienna wall, his elbows resting limply atop his knees, and his head buried morosely in his hands, clearly deeply emotionally wounded by some unnamed tragedy. Slowly retreating into the shadows so as to not disturb him, I watched helplessly as his chest and shoulders shook violently, a strangled moan escaping his lips, and I restrained the nigh irresistible urge to rush to his side because I was absolutely certain that had he been human, he would have been sobbing, and I was equally certain that a great portion of the blame for his grief lied at my feet.

As I floated over the large stones and made to quickly disappear from Carlisle's presence down one of the long hallways opposite from where he sat, before he was alerted to the fact that I lingered watchfully in the darkness, Carlisle suddenly lifted his head out of his hands, and his glittering golden eyes bore directly into mine. I was abruptly brought to a jarring stop, as I realized that to scurry away from him now that he knew I was here would be unforgivably rude. His eyes flickered worriedly over me as I stood frozen mid-step, briefly registering the telltale signs of my freshly satisfied thirst, and my deeply concerned expression, with an emotion akin to fear written over his features before it was replaced with a small, resignedly sad frown. He breathed out a loud sigh, a pitiful sound like angel's wings breaking, and struggled to school his quivering lower lip into an impassive line before he suddenly ruptured the delicate silence between us by swallowing and choking out: "Are they... are they doing well? Vera, is she—"

Carlisle's inquiry after his former test subjects' health, whilst trying to avoid mentioning specifically what had restored it was positively torturous to watch, so I interrupted hastily, "Yes. They have recovered their strength and are in exceptional condition. You needn't worry for them any longer," I offered reassuringly, with an empathetic look as I clasped my hands in front of myself, and drifted marginally closer to where my profoundly troubled friend sat, spiritually-crushed, and inwardly weeping over what he supposed to be the irrevocable loss of eleven souls, as they had eagerly partaken of their first serving of human blood. Carlisle said nothing in response to my effort at consolation, but instead turned away from my gaze and looked despairingly heavenward, as if to ask the higher powers of the universe why they would be so cruel to create a species who required the blood of human beings to survive.

It was a good question, one I had pondered many times myself, but I sensed that Carlisle's explanations for this great mystery would be far less hopeful than mine, and I wanted to rescue him from his currently perturbingly pessimistic line of thinking."Carlisle, please do not despair," I beseeched him gently, "You yourself said that animal blood was insufficient for those with physical gifts."

"I know... and I _am_ glad to see that they are doing better, but..." he trailed off unable to vocally label the source of his misery but instead twisting his neck slowly to gaze dejectedly at the floor.

"It still troubles you," I observed softly, gliding a few more steps forward and slowly easing onto my knees, so that I would not be towering over my friend as I attempted to offer him some meager portion of solace, an action which momentarily caused Carlisle's eyes to widen in disbelief that I, Aro of the Volturi would kneel in front of anyone for any reason, before his momentous grief overwhelmed him once again.

"Yes," he sighed heavily, looking for all the world like he had endured the crippling loss of his own children but a few hours before. "I feel like the deaths at their hands are my fault," he confessed, interlocking his trembling hands over his knees, and resting his finely sculpted chin against them with a self-deprecating frown.

My face contorted with a wildly puzzled expression. "How so?"

"I feel as though I have failed them, failed to save them from their thirst, failed to save their souls," he explained gloomily, spreading a hand across his chest to demonstrate the personal injury this trail of thought inflicted on him. "I know that you don't agree with my line of reasoning, theologically, but I feel like my inadequacies in helping them adjust to my methods make me responsible for what they have done since their release."

It was true that I believed he was mistaken in supposing that we were damned when we consciously chose to kill humans to eat, but even according to his own moral outlook, he had done nothing personally to lay the blame for their feeding upon his head. Dear me, would he ever stop beating himself up over nothing?

"Carlisle, their decision to drink human blood is their own," I said somewhat firmly, setting a comforting, but also subtly chastising hand on his quaking shoulder, in an attempt to quell his unnecessary self-flagellation over the matter. "You should not blame yourself for what is ultimately their choice," I declared finally, hazarding the risk of upsetting him further to peer meaningfully into the younger vampire's glistening golden eyes, hoping that he understood I was utilizing them to convey emotion in this instance, and not particularly to insensitively shove in his face the discrepancy between our opinions towards consuming mortals.

Thankfully, Carlisle appeared to understand that my purposeful initiation of eye-contact was not meant to be confrontational, and showed no signs of being alarmed by my irises' bright crimson color. "I know," he exhaled, emotionally exhausted, and clearly frustrated with himself for being frustrated with himself. "But you know how I feel... what they have lost... forever..." he spoke barely more than a whisper, his right hand fleetingly reaching into the distance as if to indicate a desirable fate for his former test subjects that was now eternally beyond their reach.

A tiny frown managed to curl under the corners of my lips—I did know, but I also did not like the direction this conversation was going.

"Perhaps not..." I expressed optimistically, with a blindingly wide smile, and eyes alight with rays of hope, aspiring to lighten the dreary mood which had settled thickly over us in this otherwise vacant, dim stone hallway. "Do you really suppose that their maker would condemn them for consuming what that same maker designed them to consume? It is not as though lions are under condemnation simply because they were created as carnivores," I proposed rationally.

Carlisle sighed and steadfastly shook his head, his short, coarse locks rustling slightly at the motion, "No matter how logical that argument is... I do not make the rules, Aro. I simply try my best to abide by them," he explained sadly, clearly wishing that it was his prerogative to objectively define moral right and wrong, but feeling resolutely that such cosmic determination was out of his hands. "And it seems to me that "thou shalt not murder" is fairly straightforward," he finished caustically, sending me an accusatory glare, to clarify that I was under condemnation in his eyes as the word _murder_ rolled off his unexpectedly barbed tongue.

I was somewhat taken aback by his uncharacteristically harsh indictment, but being a fiercly competitive man, and unwilling to let Carlisle have the last say in this matter, I was about to offer my rebuttal when Carlisle interrupted: "And I know that you define murder differently than I—that you do not see killing for food to be in the same category as killing wastefully out of greed, corruption or hate—but I see it as killing for gluttony," he rushed to say, before I had the chance to counteract him. "So many deaths... for what?" he demanded to know, his voice cracking with a desperate emotion, and his round, doe-like eyes brimming with undisguised trauma. "A pleasant taste and marginally improved strength?" he spat in bewildered disdain.

"The differences in our strengths are hardly marginal..." I countered gently, giving my friend's tense shoulder a soothing squeeze, and being particularly careful to ensure that my quietly chiding tone was laced with nothing but the uttermost politeness and delicacy, as it appeared that today Carlisle was particularly volatile and I was not foolish enough to prod him into eruption. "Jane wiped the floor with you... with one arm," I reminded him in my softest, heavenliest voice, despite the brutal ferocity of the event I was mentioning and its unfortunate implications. "And she did not even have to resort to using her gift."

Carlisle grimaced at the unpleasant memory of their extremely brief sparring.

"Although she may be immortal, she is barely thirteen, Carlisle," I added, deeply concerned by the jarring unnaturalness of such a thing, and raising a challenging eyebrow to silently request an immediate explanation as to why this was so. "Thirteen-year-old little girls should not be able to physically best adult men."

"I know, Aro. I know," he granted exasperatedly, raising two hands, palms outward, in a defensive gesture to allay my relentless verbal assault. "I simply do not understand it yet, but I will get to the bottom of this discrepancy of strength, I swear it," he promised sincerely, his figure straitening with resolve, and the dedication to do precisely that burning hotly in his piercing golden eyes.

A delighted smile spread over my pale lips. "Good. See that you do," I said as I rose gradually in a rippling wave of ruffles and buttons to my feet and turned to stroll away from him, content with the knowledge that he understood his methods' shortcomings well enough, and uncomfortable lingering in his presence when I was still so obviously covered in what Carlisle considered to be the testaments of my damnation. "Until we next meet, I will be in my chambers if you require anything," I offered magnanimously, with my back to him so that I would not have to witness his displeasure at my vague insinuation towards the perpetually extended option of satisfying his thirst through traditional means if he were to ever simply ask.

"Of course," I heard him acknowledge weakly, before I swept off into the distance.

…

It was at our next scheduled meeting in the dungeons some months later, as we stood beside Heinrich, who sat placidly upon his bed, wholly absorbed in the task of reading a large tome which Carlisle must have fetched for him—a lengthy compilation of vampire-related mythology written in his native tongue of German—that I asked the question I had been itching to ask ever since we began this experiment: "Carlisle, you have been observing the differences between my guard and the test subjects for over a year—have you discovered why those who drink animals have such a different color of eyes?" I enquired, utterly puzzled by the unsolved conundrum.

"I cannot say for certain what is going on, but as I was studying them I did come up with one theory…" he explained, his calculating gaze flickering briefly over to Heinrich's golden eyes, which were tracing the bold, inked glyphs on the parchment in front of him intently with wide-lidded fascination.

"Let's hear it," I encouraged eagerly, gesturing for him to continue.

"Do you know what color human blood is when it is fresh from the vein, healthy and alive?" He asked, and I was somewhat taken aback by the inquiry—_what did he think I was, stupid? I was a vampire for crying out loud, of course I knew what color human blood was! _

"Red, of course," I responded, looking at my usually quite intelligent friend out of the comer of my eyes with an incredulous frown. "Or are you looking for a more in depth description of the hue? I see the color on a regular basis, you know," I reminded him, with my vivid recollection of the frequent incidents during which I had seen human blood causing my bewildered expression to become swiftly overtaken by a devilish smirk.

Carlisle ignored my obvious glee in regards to the subject of my preferred method of feeding and continued in his baffling interrogation "And are not your eyes the same color when you feed?" he questioned further—stupefying me with his utterly impassive reference to my habitual massacre of mortals, his voice absolutely steady, matter-of-fact, and betraying none of his deep internal turmoil over the subject.

I was so impressed by his unprecedented display of emotional restraint that it took me awhile to digest his words, and consider his train of thought… _Interesting…_ I mused."…Yes," I answer slowly with an astonished expression—_was he suggesting what I thought he was?_

"So might we suppose that your eyes are revealing what is in your system?" he responded rationally, directing a hand indicatively in the general direction of my scarlet irises, and towards Heinrich, who paid us no mind as his golden eyes switched back and forth rapidly over the yellowing pages in his hands.

"I suppose we can make that conclusion, yes," I replied hesitantly, folding my hands contemplatively in front of my body, and drifting gradually closer to Heinrich's decrepit bedside as I spoke softly, like a lyrical, silky lullaby, keeping my eyes focused on Carlisle the entire time as my feet slid gracefully over the large, damp stones beneath my heeled shoes. "My eyes are bright red right after a good meal, but then as time passes the blood is used up, my eyes are left vacant—black," I related with an impassive tone, though inwardly I was positively burning inside to know where Carlisle was going with all of his elementary questions.

"…Right, so then… why are my eyes and his eyes yellow? Is not animal blood red as well?" Carlisle asked rhetorically, mimicking my utterly puzzled expression while pointing with two deft fingers to his own eyes, and the directing those same pallid digits towards Heinrich's.

I blinked a few times to convey my surprise. "…That was why I asked you. I do not understand it."

Carlisle calmly strode over to the opposite side of Heinrich's bed and picked up an ornate silver tray atop which sat two small glass beakers firmly stoppered with corks, which were filled with two different, wholly unidentified substances of varying viscosity, and began walking back towards me with the curious liquids in hand. As he drew closer I noticed that one of the small glass containers was filled with a watery, pale yellow substance, which—thanks to Carlisle's tight seal on the container—emitted only a faint, unfamiliar odor, and the other was a comparatively viscous, dark red liquid, which only released the barest fragrance through the thick glass, but which I immediately recognized as human blood.

Recalling the neglected presence of an underfed, four-month old vampire in the room, I quickly shot a wary glance at Heinrich, to determine if he was going to lunge madly at the paltry portion of sustenance being carried only a few feet away from him on a silver platter—but I was utterly dumbfounded to discover that the lanky, dark-haired vampire, remained ramrod still in his cross-legged reading position. His eyes, which anxiously switch-backed over the bold foreign lettering did not even flicker in Carlisle's direction, as my friend's white, ankle-length coat billowed silently past Heinrich's bedside. For, although the scent which managed to escape the tight container was extremely faint, sterilized and nigh-vacuum-sealed as it was, I expected the mere presence of human blood in his chamber to drive him mad with hunger.

Apparently not—Carlisle did say he was doing quite well, but through my gift I knew that Heinrich's thirst was not satisfied. _How is he resisting it then?_ I wondered to myself. _Is he simply too absorbed in his reading to notice_? _I highly doubt it—I know of no novel that is, or ever has been in print which is thoroughly fascinating enough to distract a famished vampire from their own throat-scorching bloodthirst._ _It must be something else._

Suddenly I was stricken with an epiphany—Carlisle thought that perhaps Heinrich's better "adjustment" to the unhealthy diet was a result of his mental abilities, since using mental abilities took less of a physical toll on the body, but there was also the fact that Heinrich's ability was the unique power of mental disorientation (an ability which allowed him to make those he targeted in close proximity to be unable to focus on their tasks). And a power like that could definitely be used on himself, to cause his body to be unable to concentrate on his thirst. It struck me as horribly ironic that Heinrich's apparent control could also be the result of using his gift on himself, and I wondered if Carlisle had considered the possibility… I was given no more time to contemplate this however, for Carlisle unexpectedly held out the silver tray in front of me.

"Blood does turn yellow sometimes…" Carlisle said suddenly, reaching to secure his dexterous fingers around the container filled with the slightly smelly, pale yellow liquid, and lifting it slowly to place it in my hands so that I could view it more closely, "…when it breaks apart, and decomposes into waste products," he explained in an encyclopedic tone, his demonstrative glance towards the stoppered glass in my hands indicating that the perplexing liquid I now held was the decomposed blood of which he spoke.

"Waste products?" I asked bewilderedly, unsure in my time-induced unfamiliarity with the human body as to what he referred.

"Ah yes, that is urine, or piss, if you prefer," He explained politely with a gentle smile, and I quickly handed the container back to him, no longer interested in being in such close proximity with such a gross substance. "Ah… I see."

"Its characteristic color is caused by the broken down proteins of dead blood," Carlisle continued in his scientific explanation, gradually settling the container of human waste against the silver platter once more, seemingly oblivious to my extreme disgust with having touched, however indirectly, such a thing, as the clear glass clinked against the shiny metal surface. "…so I wondered, with the similarity in color to my own eyes, and because of some of the unsatisfactory results we've seen in my test subjects, if perhaps that is what we are seeing—decomposing blood—rather than healthy red blood," he finished logically, walking calmly with the ornate tray in his hands back over the bedside table opposite where I sat as I worriedly watched Heinrich's stock-still form, and the frantic way golden his eyes flickered across the antique pages before him.

It stunned me that Carlisle had come to such a conclusion—it made perfect sense, and yet, it also cast an obviously disparaging light on his precious diet, which I had not expected—I had rather assumed that he would attempt to rationalize the varying color in his eyes as a good sign, not as an indication of poor health. And yet, perhaps I should not have presumed that—for while Carlisle often personally neglected to place his "blessings" under scrutiny, he was not one to dispute what lied right before his eyes. And for that reason, I was delighted to inwardly assert that this experiment had been an excellent idea.

"Fascinating…" I breathed, with ecstatically wide crimson eyes, and a large toothy smile, wholeheartedly convinced that Carlisle was correct in his hypothesis, and delighted that his own keen observations might make persuading him to switch food sources very easy.

"The only flaw I see with that theory, is that I cannot fathom _why_ animal blood would decompose in the system like that before it is used up by the body," he related, clearly frustrated that the evidence was running afoul of his previous assumptions, "It is clear that their bodies are not synthesizing the animal blood properly, for instead of keeping it alive and healthy, as the system does with human blood, it breaks animal blood down very rapidly—causing the yellow color, and also causing their eyes to blacken completely within a week or two, whereas yours take at least a month and half, if not two months before your eyes even darken a shade," he explained lamentingly, his intellectual mind determined to accept the facts as they were, no matter how unpleasant, but the notion that abstinence from human blood was detrimental to himself and his test subjects was wearing heavily on his soul. "What I do not understand is the reason for the symptoms I have seen—why should human blood be any better for the body than animal blood? Are they not fundamentally the same? Aside from taste?" He asked in horribly mystified desperation.

"My instinct would be to say that is not so," I countered, gradually lifting two hands with palms outward to signify that he should not hastily jump to conclusions about any possible deeper similarity between the two substances than outward appearance—for while animal blood and human blood were both red, viscous liquids which served much the same purpose in both creatures, I sincerely doubted that there was much alike about them beyond that. "The physical symptoms, say that much at least."

Judging by his fiercely skeptical expression, and his firmly crossed arms, Carlisle seemed wholly unconvinced, so I decided to elaborate. "Compared to my guard, the test subjects are very weak, easily bested in terms of strength and endurance even by the least muscular members. Certainly animal blood gives them enough strength to easily surpass a human, so long as they use their powers infrequently, but they would be utterly useless in a battle against other vampires," I announced truthfully, and Carlisle grimaced as he no doubt imagined the inevitable grisly outcome if he were to be so foolish as to engage in serious combat with any of the other immortals in this fortress.

"The thirst also makes them irritable and prone to rapid mood swings," I continued before he could interrupt me, resolutely determined to drive home the point that his ways were harmful, not just to himself, but to the innocent men and women I had magnanimously permitted him to inflict partial starvation upon in order to satisfy our scientific curiosity. "The slightest sound will send their eyes frantically searching the room, and the scent of human blood renders them utterly incapable of rational thought. Also, their hair has stopped growing, and become brittle—whereas those who drink human blood have hair which continues to grow, albeit slowly, and is smooth and strong."

Carlisle frowned deeply at my accurate observations, before casting a reproachful glance at Heinrich, who had apparently taken a short break from his hurried reading to disturb my friend's concentration—Heinrich visibly recoiled from Carlisle's accusatory glare, and set about skimming his eyes rapidly over the tome in his hands once again. "...That is true..." Carlisle conceded hesitantly, turning his gaze pointedly towards the chipped flagstone beneath his feet, rather than looking me in the eyes and being reminded, by their vibrant crimson hue, of the increased might I possessed which, though highly desirable, came at the lofty cost of human sacrifice. The room feel painfully silent as Carlisle wallowed in disconcerted self-pity, before finally he ran a nervous hand through his coarse, short hair, and sighed in utter defeat, with a slow troubled and bewildered shake of his head "...but I simply do not understand it."

"Hmmm. I have a theory for why animal blood is insufficient," I mused aloud, having considered all of my accumulated knowledge about both substances, and suddenly remembering an important facet of this mind-boggling puzzle which I had, thanks to Carlisle's stubborn insistence that the blood of beasts was substantially equivalent, hitherto perceived to be irrelevant.

"You do?" Carlisle exclaimed, and he perked up, excited by the prospect of getting to the bottom of this vexing mystery, despite the fact that both of us knew that what I was going to say was likely to devastate him.

"Although I know nothing of what particular components animal blood is lacking, I do know that the blood which gives a vampire their greatest strength is the blood they possessed as humans, or that which is most similar to it," I offered matter-of-factly, unconsciously wetting my lips with my glistening venom as my mind drifted through the fathomless cesspool of memories I had accumulated from the many vampires whom I had touched throughout my long existence, to isolate the heady experiences of those given the rare privilege of indulging in the blood of which I spoke.

"And how do you know this?" Carlisle enquired skeptically.

"Newborn vampires still possess their human blood in their tissues—and when they are fed properly," I added, to explain why Carlisle had not experienced this incredible rush of strength, for his self-starvation had rapidly sapped it all away. "...they are at the strongest beings on earth for the few months it lingers in their bodies."

Carlisle blinked and leaned back marginally in shock. "Truly?"

"Yes. Although I can easily outsmart them in battle, in terms of pure strength, they could easily overwhelm me," I confess, unashamedly honest about my relative inferior physical capacity—for while it certainly was a disadvantage, newborns and I were not so unevenly matched as Carlisle and I were. With tact and subterfuge, I stood a sporting chance: Carlisle did not.

"But this state is temporary—eventually their human blood is used up, and they lose this strength, correct?" Carlisle questioned to make sure he was understanding my statements accurately, a hint of sadness for the inescapable loss bleeding through his cool, encyclopedic mask.

"Unfortunately, yes. But that strength can be restored for a time…" I begin before Carlisle summarily cuts me off: "How?"

"There are some who possess blood which is… shall we say, written in a similar fashion to the blood we had as humans, like a variation on the same tune, it is slightly different, but _oh so close," _I explain, struggling to settle upon human words which could accurately capture the essence of what had mostly been conveyed to me through my gift, and was almost impossible to describe to one who had never felt it for themselves_. "_We call those who possess this blood, _cantanti_ or 'singers', because their blood seems to call to us, to sing to us an irresistible song like the sirens of ancient Greece. The scent alone can drive even the most well-fed of vampires into insanity. And to taste the blood of a singer is like drinking pure ambrosia—the most delectable taste in the entire universe," I finish, licking my lips and gazing heavenward with a delighted sigh.

Carlisle looked incredibly disturbed by my rapturous account, but swallowed and quickly shook off his mounting disgust before timidly enquiring: "…How often do you find… those with blood that sings to you?"

I heaved another deep sigh, this one sorrowful, rather than satisfied. "Regrettably, it varies from vampire to vampire. I suppose some types of blood are more common than others—Demetri seems to find one who sings to him every other year, but I have never had the privilege," I expressed with passionate grief, deeply crushed by the unfairness of this world which prevented me from ever having experienced that great pleasure firsthand.

Two delicate blonde eyebrows nearly lifted off of his forehead. "Never? But you are…"

"Yes, I am aware that I am ancient," I dismissed his obvious deduction with a slight scowl. "But even in my three thousand years of existence, I have not found a single one whose blood has appealed to me in that manner. I am beginning to think that whatever sort of blood I possessed as a human is now extinct," I lamented woundedly, reaching out my arms and grasping longingly at the air before me, before slowly loosening my fists, and dropping my hands resignedly at my sides, as though to visually express how I felt about such a great experience, by some cruel twist of fate, being most likely forever beyond my reach.

Carlisle heartlessly ignored my bereavement. "You said this blood—the blood of 'singers'—is… enticing. Do you have any idea why?" he asked, evidently confused that some human blood exerted a greater pull than others, for in his mind he still clung to the mortal, inaccurate assumption of the time that all blood was fundementally the same.

"Do you presume our bodies to invent these urges randomly?" I demanded disbelievingly—_certainly Carlisle did not suppose that our bloodthirst was simply a curse designed to mock and torment us... certainly he understood that it was our body's way of letting us know what we needed to survive, much as human hunger and thirst was to their bodies, right?_ The idea that our instincts in regards to satisfying our thirst were ultimately meaningless went against all logic.

"The blood of _cantanti, _which smells and tastes the most exquisite, gives us the most strength. Human blood which smells and tastes delicious, but does not sing to us gives us acceptable strength. Human blood which is less appealing than even that, gives us lesser strength," I illustrated definitively, hoping that Carlisle would catch the crucial pattern painfully evident in my statements.

A wide smile split across my face as Carlisle's eyes widened in realization. "Then animal blood…"

"Yes. Animal blood smells and tastes disgusting, so logically it follows that it gives us barely any strength. Is that not what we have observed?"

"But why must this be so?" Carlisle cried out despairingly, as though he was exerting all his comparatively weak willpower against the irrefutable laws of the universe, as if to radically change his very physiology simply by force of thought.

"Our bodies were originally human bodies, Carlisle—human bodies designed to accommodate a very specific type of human blood. In our immortality, they have been adapted to be able to consume a wider variety, but that still does not change the fact that they are still, in some respects, human," I affirmed staunchly, gesturing over myself to direct his desperate, inquisitive eyes toward my glorious, but still rather humanesque form to remind him of our physical dissimilarity with beasts, despite our often animalistic instincts. "Animal blood is wholly incompatible with the design of our system."

The room fell into a heavy, stale silence after my unwavering declaration of fact. Carlisle said nothing for a very long time, and for the barest moment I was almost convinced that he had not heard me, if it were not for the perplexing variety of emotions washing over his face one after another as he ferociously struggled to process what all the information we had shared today amounted to. I could tell that he was clearly morally distressed by the implications the experiment had presented, scientifically thrilled that his questions about the differences between the two diets had been answered, and mentally torn over what he should do in response to his recently acquired knowledge, which was all to be expected.

What was rather unforeseen, however, was that he would spend such a lengthy duration of time in this troubled state of tossing emotional turmoil—standing fiercely still with his pale hands clasped nervously beneath his chin, and staring intently at the slimy dungeon walls for at least half a hour without so much as a touch or a word to make me privy to his thoughts. I did not wish to rush him in these crucial minutes, for this internal struggle was what all these many months of experimentation had been leading up to, but as the soundless-ness wore on painfully between us, I began to fear that Carlisle would remain dumbstruck over this eternally.

But as soon as I parted my lips to speak, at last he broke the silence.

"…You make a very compelling case, Aro," he breathed in awe, his stupefaction and terror over my daunting revelation paralyzing him for a moment, before they were swiftly overcome with a placid acceptance of the truth. "I had hoped that this experiment would be an opportunity for me to persuade you to change your ways, but with the outcomes we have seen, it seems I was mistaken," he admitted with a rueful smile, which had my own eyebrows threatening to distend from my face at his remarkably easy admission, and Heinrich's book clattered nosily to the dirty floor in unbridled shock. "Animal blood has made both me and the test subjects very weak—and I realize now that is something that needs to be rectified as soon as possible," he declared adamantly, with a rigid confidence in his shoulders and a complexion shining with mirth while he called to the guards on the other side of the thick iron door to allow our departure from the room.

I positively beamed—he was _finally_ going to be swayed, and better than that, he was anxious to resolve his unsatisfied thirst "as soon as possible!" It was so astounding that we had come to this point so suddenly that I wanted to kiss him, but I coolly reigned in the silly impulse, as it would likely be highly unappreciated.

As Carlisle stood, tapping his heeled shoes impatiently against the grimy stone beneath our feet as he waited for the guards to lift the beams to permit his escape, he suddenly spun towards me, his white lab coat swirling dramatically as he twirled in a sharp circle, and his determined golden eyes burning with unprecedented enthusiasm. I sucked in an excited breath as he searched out my face for acceptance, was he really so eager to at last give in to his natural desires? This was most certainly quicker than I had supposed, but I was not complaining. If it was his desire, I would fetch him someone to feed from at once, whether to consume whole, or to draw off a portion of their blood, it mattered not to me—the idea that Carlisle might desire to drink human blood at all, for any other reason than scientific curiosity, was thrilling enough.

When I was just about to perish from anticipation, Carlisle finally opened his mouth, undoubtably to speak the words I had been itching to hear roll forth from his tongue. "…We must begin at once on creating a substitute," he requested eagerly.

I offered my most dazzling smile. "Yes of co—wait, _what?_" I demanded perplexedly, as I suddenly realized that he had said something rather different than I had imagined.

_That was not what I was hoping to hear._


	13. Chapter 12: Evidence of Starvation

**AN: When I found out that broken down blood is the reason why our human waste products have their color, it was just the perfect explanation for Carlisle's golden eyes: I almost couldn't believe it. It's almost like animal-blood incompatibility is already canon. Blowing my mind.**

**Sidenote: I just realized that according to book-canon Carlisle is 6' 2" and Aro is more like 5' 10"ish because average heights were shorter back then, so yeah, he's shorter than Carlisle... which makes him no less imposing, but is something to keep in mind. :)**

**Also be sure to check out my deviantart and youtube accounts: (I go by the same name on both sites and there are links in my author's description). I've got plenty of Luxury of Mercy artwork and videos to share with you guys. Some of my twilight videos are not strictly related to this story, but those that are will have "The Luxury of Mercy" in the title. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Evidence of Starvation <strong>

"Carlisle, certainly the evidence convinces you that drinking animal blood is unhealthy!" I bellowed loudly in empathetic rage, passionately dismayed that my dear friend was intent on embarking on what I was certain would be a futile quest to create an artificial alternative, rather than simply accepting that which nature already perfectly supplied. For, although his recently-declared mission was a noble one, I highly doubted that any combination of herbs and chemicals could ever fully replicate all the vital, subtle nuances in human blood, and thus was absolutely sure that all his attempts would only be a complete waste of time, frustration and resources.

Carlisle exhaled loudly, and coolly reigned in the wrathful impulses instinctually ignited by my confrontational tone, releasing the fierce tension which had stiffened his lab-coat adorned shoulders, and lifted his hands slowly in a peacemaking gesture. "Yes, it is quite ineffective in dispelling thirst, and providing full-strength I see that now," he offered softly, sweeping his arm forward in a beckoning motion, to indicate that he wished for me to follow him, as he began to gradually ascend the stone steps leading out of the dungeons, with a tattered, stained, leather-bound journal filled with his notes from the experiment tucked carefully under one arm. "But that does not change the fact that I refuse to kill humans," he insisted somewhat sharply, his blunt white teeth clenched and shining ever so slightly with venom and a repressed growl bubbling in his throat as I hesitantly trailed after him up the tall, spiral stairwell, interested to see where he was leading me. "I am willing to pay the price, no matter how costly, to abstain from ending human life."

"And the others?" I enquired sourly, subtly asserting through my positon of superior authority that I was bitterly opposed to the idea of allowing the three who had, until today, remained under his care, to be treated like prisoners any longer. Heinrich may have merely been transformed as a curiosity, since his gift was not particularly useful, and would probably prove more irksome to keep around than it was worth. But Carmen was Eleazar's mate, and Athenodora was Caius', and although they had respected their wives' decisions to submit to this wacky experiment initially, they were growing increasingly furious that their beloved wives had not been returned to them for over a year. And I hated to disappoint two members of the Volturi who were so powerful. The only reason the two commanding men had not stormed into the dungeons and forcibly removed their wives from their incarceration themselves, was because of the crucial influence of Chelsea's gift—but even that would fail to restrain them once their wrath with me became strong enough, and I had absolutely no desire to wait long enough to witness such a terrible calamity.

Carlisle sighed as he ascended the steps at a vexingly human pace. "The others may be released if they wish," he granted somewhat reluctantly, pursing his lips in mild displeasure, "but I will continue to dine on animal blood until I am able to produce a suitable substitute," he affirmed solidly, seeming at last to recall that he was an immortal, and could easily rise over the steep slabs of stone beneath our feet at a quicker speed.

A deep frown twisted the corners of my lips downwards, but otherwise I relaxed and composed myself, shaking away the last lingering vestiges of anger—_at least he will listen to reason well enough to only inflict his suffering upon himself_ I thought, relieved that his compassionate nature would not allow him to persist when the health of others was in serious jeopardy—but that alone was hardly consoling. Surely, it would be refreshing to release Heinrich, Carmen and Athenodora from their prolonged torture, but I also deeply desired to see Carlisle at full strength, even if I had grudgingly become somewhat fond of his gracious sensitivity towards human life, and his bright golden eyes. He was still teetering dangerously on the brink of starvation, even though he managed to hide it well. But what dumfounded me is that he now knew this—he had admitted to it only a few moments ago—but was obdurately persisting anyway, even in light of the perilous risks of doing so,

I had always surmised that once he confessed, from the undeniable evidence, that his ways were unhealthy, convincing him to switch diets would follow effortlessly—I had never imagined that he would be so stubborn in his revulsion to kill as to accept perpetual self-harm over the occasional slaughtering of others. Of course, as I considered it now, gritting my teeth in aggravation as I hastily climbed after my friend, it made perfect sense—Carlisle was always selfless to a fault, and this was simply another mortifying manifestation of it.

Sometimes in moments like these, I fleetingly wished that Carlisle were fractionally less of saint—it would be so much easier to sway him to care for himself properly if his compunctions against mortal "murder" were more flexible—but I always ended up chastising myself for desiring such a thing. Carlisle wouldn't be Carlisle without his angelic sainthood, and despite the havoc it wrecked on my emotional well-being as I was constantly worrying for him, it was an integral piece of his personality which I greatly cherished. No… my true desire was not to strip Carlisle of his morals or his religion, but to simply help him reconcile his faith with his food, and although I would much prefer him to feed with me in the orthodox manner, in my unbearable desperation to end his pain after decades of patiently waiting to do so, I was willing to do everything within my power to accommodate him and his reservations.

Of course, maintaining the secrecy of vampirekind was my first and foremost priority, so my options were limited, but I wanted to try—I cared for him enough that I was willing to endure more discomfort in order to please him than I would for almost any other. "…You needn't kill humans to partake of their blood. You did it once before," I reminded him softly, lowering my voice to a calm, feathery, almost-whisper, giving him a hopeful look as he turned to face me, which I hoped might at least persuade him to consume proper sustenance, while he and I still tripped lightly up the numerous steps.

"That is true, but there are hardly enough servants in this castle who know of our existence to sustain me over the long-term," he countered as we finally reached the summit of the stairwell and gestured toward the empty, bright castle walls around us to hint at the fact that I only kept a minimal number of knowledgeable humans within their ancient confines. "…unless you are willing to recruit more for my sake…"

I frowned slightly and rapidly strode in front of him, tired of speaking to the back of his pristine white lab coat, instead of directly to his face, and glanced around the vacant, musky hallway with a neutral expression, inwardly processing that Carlisle was, unfortunately, correct in this instance. Large groups of humans were difficult to predict and control, and I had never needed more than a handful in-the-know to take care of our legal affairs with the outside world, so the number of humans who might become a liability in this fortress rarely exceeded a number that could not be counted with the fingers on both hands. But in order to feed from humans without killing, Carlisle probably wanted to play it safe and allow long periods of time between feedings, which would necessitate far more informed humans than I was comfortable housing—twenty or thirty at the least—not to mention that the number would need to stay relatively constant, instead of fluctuating as it normally did, because a few sudden losses would leave him starving again.

If the humans could remain oblivious to the secret of our existence, this might not be an issue—I would merely keep them holed away in one of the furthest wings of the castle and keep them busy with menial tasks, such as doing our laundry, and prevent them from ever hearing or seeing anything too suspicious—but if they were to feed Carlisle, they would absolutely need to be in the know. I really could not fathom a suitable excuse that could be made for why my friend would be regularly extracting and drinking their blood. Which of course, presented an enormous problem—when groups of humans that large were aware of our existence, their numbers began to give them a growing sense of solidarity, the dangerous idea that they could, perhaps oppose us, if they were to rally together their tenacity and talents. And I really did not fancy the prospect of watching my laundry maids betraying our trust to their mortal fellows and consequently launching an all-out assault against vampirekind.

My guard and I were unlikely to perish in the chaos which would ensue, but thanks to human advancements the world was becoming increasingly interconnected, and I feared that soon it would be far too late to merely slaughter a villageful of witnesses, and pretend that our exposure to the outside world never happened. And once all of humanity knew of our reality, they would work tirelessly to create some infernal device capable of destroying us—and I had no doubts, having lived through their fears and ambitions myself, that they would achieve it eventually, if humankind at large ever became aware of our "threat." And since my whole existence was dedicated to making sure that such a thing did not happen, lamentably I could not afford to indulge Carlisle in this one—it was far too risky.

I gravely shook my head and clasped my hands mournfully in front of my chest. "I am sorry, dearest Carlisle, but that is an accommodation that I cannot offer," I bemoaned, sincerely remorseful that this most palatable option was forbidden to him by mundane, but extremely important logistical difficulties, as I gradually stretched forth a hand to graze my cool fingertips over the smooth planes of his cheek. I wanted to ascertain his feelings in the present towards my unequivocal refusal to satiate him in this hazardous manner. "Surely you understand that having too many who know of our secret kept with us for so long is…" I trialed of for dramatic effect, "…_dangerous_."

"Then I would need to supplement with something else," Carlisle responded quickly, his curt and matter-of-fact and his lips growing tight with displeasure as his limited options for sustenance, and the difficulty of combining conflicting feeding methods flickered through his mind. "And since it is nearly impossible to swallow animal blood after one has so recently tasted human blood, if I were to feed from your servants, I might be compelled to kill in my hunger," he admitted sorrowfully, dipping his head ever so slightly as I watched a dizzying stream of vibrant images of himself hungrily slaughtering human beings overwhelm his turbulent thoughts, and felt the desperate fire in his throat, persistently cloying at him to chase… to drink… to kill… "But if I continue to live primarily on the blood of beasts, however, that temptation will be much easier to manage, I think," Carlisle asserted with fractionally more optimism, as he discreetly swallowed the venom that had pooled on his tongue in response to his vivid fantasies, and directed his mind towards other things—such as my impending reaction to his statement, and the date of his last hunt.

I frowned—he was right.

If Carlisle wanted to wholly prevent the demise of humans, the best option would be to continue to drink from animals, despite the hideous side-effects, for he could never 100% guarantee that there would be a consistent supply of donors, living, or otherwise, no matter where he went, and if he drank human blood regularly, his healthy body would activate his gag reflex if he tried to consume animal blood during times of shortage. Certainly there was a variety of ways to obtain human blood beyond these halls without causing death which he could alternate between to prevent against scarcity, and even methods which had a minimal risk of exposure, (such as draining it from humans who were recently deceased) or making tiny, hidden lacerations on the living while they slept. But I felt through our connection that he had no desire to leave us just yet, and also was acutely aware of his extreme paranoia that if he were to attempt to meticulously arrange a system by which he could drink from humans without inflicting death upon them, something would go horribly wrong.

In his mind, there was always the chance that he could be discovered for what he was by the locals on accident as he surreptitiously took blood and would be unable to alter their memories before the word spread, or the chance that he would like what he tasted so much that he would abandon his scruples in the moment to drain the living, or his predatory desire to kill would drive him wild in the absence of hunting animals, or the chance that a terrible disease could ravage the area he was living in and make the vast majority of the available human blood inedible. All of these could lead to him being driven to murder, and in his eyes, such an action would irrevocably condemn to the lowest tier of Hell.

I had hoped that the evidence that it was an integral part of our species' design to consume human blood would convince him that there was no moral transgression in killing humans—for I could not fathom that our creator would be so cruel as to invent a species which would eventually waste away without drinking human blood, and forbid them to do that which was necessary and natural to obtain it. But alas, it seemed that he still believed damnation to be very much in the cards if were ever to succumb to his predatory nature.

Which only left one option if he wanted to stay here in Italy, and dine on human blood without death on his hands.

I was momentarily distracted from suggesting this option however, as I began to notice something phenomenally unusual through our prolonged physical contact. Carlisle's tempestuous emotions in the moment made it very clear that he was profoundly aggrieved by his body's natural instincts, and yet, I was surprised to discover as the seconds tolled on that his recent brutal imaginations of human carnage remained utterly intact, and only the physical sensations of his thirst were written over with false satisfaction as his gift wrought its subconscious alterations. Typically, he was so vastly disturbed by what he saw, that the bloody visions vanished from existence almost as soon as they were generated. But today, in spite of his incredible distaste for them, the images remained firmly burned into his crystalline memory, preserved perfectly in all their cruel, hedonistic glory, wholly untouched by his overactive abilities.

It baffled me.

_Perhaps he is coming to subconsciously accept that there is a predator in him rather than so firmly denying it,_ I pondered hopefully. _Perhaps sometime in the future, he may come to accept it entirely, and stop unknowingly deluding himself. Or perhaps not… Carlisle is rather stubborn, _I observed sadly, before turning my thoughts back towards how we might solve this predicament. There was one work-around method I could think of which would not technically trespass against his narrow ethical strictures, not require him to leave this castle, nor risk revealing our secret to the human world, and I wanted to propose that he use it.

"…If damnation truly is your concern, in those instances of emergency I could… take the blow for you…" I suggested slowly after a long period of nervous silence between us, choosing my words cautiously, so as to select the vocabulary least likely to offend my sensitive friend, and releasing my hand from his to spread it across my unbeating heart in a mock-wounded gesture.

Carlisle's blonde eyelashes fluttered bewilderedly. "What do you mean?" he asked dubiously, uncertain as to whether I was actually daring to insinuate what he fearfully supposed I might be, as we stood together in this empty stone corridor.

"I could kill for you, when my servants are not enough to provide you the sustenance you need, so that those deaths were on my hands," I explained compassionately, extending my ashen palms forward in a gentle, fluid motion which was meant to convey my willingness to reach out in behalf of my friend, and to indicate where the blame would lie for such deeds. "I would gladly bear the guilt for you, if there is any to be born, Carlisle," I added with the utmost sincerity, pleading with him with my shining crimson eyes and my clasped hands rocking slightly in a wordless, prayer-like supplication, to accept my altruistic proposal to be a surrogate for his moral suffering.

Carlisle looked positively petrified by the suggestion that I would willingly take upon myself the scourge of damnation in his place, evidently terrified, from the way his golden eyes bulged and his face somehow seemed even paler than before, by the prospect that I would so callously throw myself into the infernal pit, in order to offer him what seemed to be such a comparatively small measure of comfort. It heartened me that he seemed to care enough about my soul that he was utterly disgusted by the notion of me tainting it further for his sake, despite the fact that I was already irredeemably condemned in his eyes as long as I remained unrepentant, but I sensed something else in his traumatized expression as well. My spiritual eternal fate was not his primary concern—no, he was much more viscerally perturbed by something else.

I watched a thick lump build up in Carlisle's throat as he swallowed. "No, Aro," he began, ducking his eyes away from my steely gaze, "Although that is… _generous_ of you, I could not accept such an arrangement," he stalwartly denied, struggling to keep his tone polite, though the tiniest edge of sarcasm sliced into the word _generous_ as it left his eloquent tongue. "Their deaths would still be indirectly my fault. And I could not live with myself knowing that I caused innocent people to die," he explained with a miserable expression, making it very clear with his statement that it was not only the welfare of our souls which troubled him, but also the horrifying idea that such an agreement might cause additional mortals to be killed to sustain him.

"They would perish at my hands anyway," I rationalized placidly, as though we were discussing something as wholly mundane as the weather, rather than the lofty stakes of human life and death, and surreptitiously curled my fingers tightly at my sides in order to resist the urge to capture him fiercely in my powerful arms and affectionately squeeze away all the crushing sadness out of him. "With few exceptions, all mortals who enter this castle will eventually be consumed," I explained further, contemplatively pressing the tips of my fingers together and floating in a jagged circling around my friend slowly, the long brocade tails of my coat swirling behind me as I spun gracefully over the bright stone floor.

I watched him intently with my hawk-like vision as I floated around him for the unbidden emotional cues which would partially enlighten me as to his current predicament. Carlisle pursed his lips despondently, and his honey-colored eyes remained fiercely affixed to the ancient mortar between the floor bricks, but said nothing in response to my evidently ineffective reassurance, and in my mounting frustration with his emotional dodging I suddenly lurched forward, insatiably curious to know his current thoughts. Knowing that he would never shy away from my touch as did nearly everyone else in this fortress, I smoothly slipped a few fingers beneath his chin to draw his avoiding gaze to meet mine, and took in his experiences, and his teary, venom-glossed eyes. I gasped aloud as his sensitive conscience stung me with piercing intensity, and I at last I fully understood the source of his vexing reluctance to partake of his natural sustenance.

While his presence amid those who doled out death on a regular basis had hardened him to it somewhat over the decades, the notion of becoming involved in our gruesome practices, no matter how distantly, prickled against his acute sense of right and wrong. He worried that by effectively adding his name to the list of those who partook of our rotating monthly meals, Heidi would decide to select additional humans to add to the parties she led into the throne room in order to sate his thirst—humans who would have been otherwise left unscathed. So I decided to make him a promise, which I would be sure to inform Heidi of, if Carlisle could ever bring himself to surmount his reservations.

"None I will ever offer to… make still… for you, will ever have survived otherwise," I affirmed genuinely in a low, soft, feathery voice as my cool breath blew across his face, and my fingertips shifted ever so slightly beneath his pale chin.

Carlisle made a discomfited expression. "Still…"

I sighed. "So you will not be persuaded then?" I asked dejectedly, even though I already knew the answer from his thoughts.

"No," he declared, leaving no room for argument over the matter. "Heinrich, Carmen and Athenodora may do as they wish," he granted with a weary expression, "but I will continue to drink the blood of beasts."

"If that means I am no longer welcome…" he added cautiously, nervously backing away a few steps with a pleading look in his eyes, and his both his hands raised to ward off any potential rage, begging me to continue to permit him to live under the truce we had originally agreed to, evidently having no desire to sever our profound friendship over this.

My expression immediately softened. "You are always welcome here, Carlisle," I assured him, dropping my fingers from his chin to give an affectionate squeeze of his hand. "I do worry for you and your health… and I may, at times, pester you with offerings of human blood—death free, of course…" I stipulated, upon feeling the stabbing pain of his revulsion toward the demise of his mortal fellows. "But if you are willing to bear it, then you are free to stay as long as you wish," I expressed happily, spreading my arms wide at my sides as to visibly demonstrate that I was delighted to house him as a guest for as many centuries as he might desire to.

"Thank you," he breathed quietly, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—but inwardly I felt his heart soar at the knowledge that I would not force his departure over this, "I would be delighted to stay."

"I am glad to hear it."

...

Things went well between Carlisle and I for almost an entire eleven months, although Carlisle spent the vast majority of his time holed away in the dungeons laboring away fruitlessly to create a substitute, and I was quite occupied with punishing vampires across the world for their various crimes, but I was content that there was no quarrel among us, and could speak amicably with him whenever occasion permitted. It still worried me that he still was unable after so many months of work with all the latest technological equipment I had purchased for him to isolate which components in human blood were giving myself and my guard their exceptional health, and which animal blood was lacking which contribute to his test subjects' suffering. Especially since he had sworn a solemn oath to provide me with a viable alternative to human blood at the end of the year, and I knew that he took his oaths very seriously and thus was likely to do something horribly stupid in an attempt to keep it. But I was unable to do much to prevent any overzealous behavior on his part, as I was frequently called out of the castle to use my gift to determine the guilt of those my guard had apprehended in other countries, and I too, had made an oath not to needlessly distract him with inane intrusions.

Today as I had returned from punishing the creators of an immortal child, however, the pleasant air between us was greatly disturbed as Athenodora, in concern for her friend had insisted that I read Carmen's mind, and I had discovered something utterly appalling which I needed to inform Carlisle of immediately. Though it had been some time since she was released from the experiment, Carmen had decided, according to her gentle nature, that she wished to attempt to continue living Carlisle's hazardous diet on her own, in spite of both mine and her mate, Eleazar's hearty protests. Although she insisted venomously that she was fine, it appeared, from the terrible revelation I saw in both her's and Athenodora's thoughts, that living in this manner wrought disturbing changes on Carmen's body. It startled me that I had missed such a crucial thing as I observed the others, but because as newborns they did not know what to expect of immortality, they had not supposed this particular symptom was anything out of the ordinary. Carmen, and her furiously protective mate, however, having lived amid vampires who lived on human blood for centuries and having dined on it themselves for decades, were acutely aware of the loss which drinking animal blood caused.

Determined to rectify the disastrous misfortune which was pulling the amorous couple apart, and to cement even further into Carlisle's stubborn mind the concept that drinking the blood of beasts was dangerous to one's health, I decided to immediately rush down into the depths of the castle where my beast-drinking friend lurked after receiving this terrible news, in order to relay it to him. I knew he was busy, and hated to so rudely interrupt his work, but this matter was an absolutely emergency, and I was afforded little other choice.

As I rapidly rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairwell into the dungeons, the spotless dark fabric of my tailcoat whirling dramatically around me, my keen eyes quickly rested upon the nervous figure of my friend, who was anxiously pacing back and forth down the lengthy hallway, wringing his hands in frustration, and running them furiously through his hair. In those moments before he was alerted to my presence, I was concerned to notice that his hair was unusually messy today, the flaxen strands sticking up every which way in an uncharacteristically disorderly fashion, and his clothing was severely rumpled, as though he had worn the same humble articles I saw on his person now, in addition to his darkly splotched lab coat, for an innumerable span of weeks.

It alarmed me that he appeared to have been so deeply absorbed in his work that he had not even paused to make the slightest concession for his appearance, but what troubled me even more so were the thick, dark circles I saw underneath his eyes, which were even more pronounced than usual, his eerily green skin, and his irises which were blacker than the deepest obsidian. Clearly, in his frenzied determination to fulfill his impossible promise to provide me with a viable alternative to human blood by the end of the year, he had neglected to leave the castle to restore his ebbing strength for quite some time, having missed at least one, if not two of his bi-weekly meals, judging by his advanced signs of starvation. And, from his frustrated, sluggish pacing, and the fragments of worried sentences I caught muttered nearly inaudibly under his breath, it seemed that his deprivation was in vain, for his work on the substitute was not going very well at all.

I wanted to sigh in exasperation—Carlisle was running himself ragged over a lost cause.

But I refrained, for I wanted to wait in silence to see how long it would take Carlisle to be alerted to my presence while he was so thoroughly occupied in trudging tiredly back and forth between the open iron doors, which formerly housed his now thankfully absent test subjects. His movements were painfully slow, and his arms were heavy laden with a litany of fluid-filled glass beakers, untouched bags of coagulated human blood, and stacks of notes which were just as darky stained and deeply wrinkled as his attire. As he continued to move anxiously between the rooms, with this haphazard arrangement in his arms, he remained entirely oblivious to my arrival, despite the fact that we were the only two individuals in the entirety of the dungeons at the moment. He also must have remained wholly unaware of his apparent hunger, for I had determined with my sensitive nose that many of the substances he carried with him were faintly appetizing, enough to drive any other vampire with eyes like his mad with thirst, even in their states of evident age, but nonetheless the bags and beakers of blood and blood-like fluids in his hands were completely untouched.

It unnerved me that Carlisle might not even know that he had missed any meals at all—since he evidently had not peered into a mirror for a while, and without nightly sleep to give a definite sense of how much time had passed, weeks could easily blur together for vampires as long as the thirst did not assert itself. Because of his abilities, his mind was probably inventing all sorts of other excuses for his increased fatigue and writing over the pain of his unfathomable thirst with the pain he felt at being unable to produce an acceptable substitute during the past eleven months. Fearfully I concluded that if he persisted in this state, retaining a firm enough mental resistance to feeding, he could probably starve himself to death without even realizing it.

Perhaps he was already nearing the brink.

That was a terrifying thought.

Finally, after I had stood impatiently in the narrow dungeon corridor for several minutes, observing his weak, ungraceful movements, Carlisle suddenly halted in his tracks, and abruptly turned his head to face me. He was so fiercely startled by my unexpected presence that all the containers and papers in his hands clattered noisily to the floor. The plethora of glass containers he had been carrying shattered into a thousand fragments as they collided with the hard stone floor, and sludgy, dark red fluids splattered all over himself, the grimy floor and his crumpled notes. I heard Carlisle hiss irately under his breath—the closest the devout man ever came to cursing—and futilely attempt to brush off the thickly soaked papers which now clung all over his disastrously drenched lab coat and trousers, before he threw up his hands in defeat and gave up the embarrassing quest.

"Aro what brings you here?" Carlisle bit out somewhat tersely, as he gradually lowered himself to the floor to scoop up the glass fragments which were strewn hazardously about, and hastily removed his ruined lab coat to mop up the sizable mess he had created. "…it is not ready yet," he declared bitterly with a self-loathing expression, as he vigorously rubbed the rumpled fabric over the sickly sweet, gooey puddle in front of him.

"I can see that," I observed with a single, elegantly-arched, raised black eyebrow. "But that is not what I came here to discuss," I stated with heavy, somber authority, making it very clear I had not come here to speak about his pathetic attempts to fabricate a sufficient blood-alternative, and Carlisle immediately straightened, ignoring the remainder of the slushy pile which lied at his feet, and ran a nervous hand through his sloppy hair, sensing the seriousness of what I was about to tell him.

"Has something happened?" He enquired with deep concern, squinting, as though there was something caught in his eye which he could not manage to melt out with his venom, and pinching the bridge of his nose in a very human-esque gesture, suggesting that perhaps he was aggrieved by a headache.

No, that couldn't be right, vampires did not get headaches—it must have been something else.

"Carlisle, I have just discovered the most terrible thing in Carmen's and Athenodora's minds," I began with a grievous shake of my head, my long black locks tossing in a dark halo around me, before my gentle, polite tone grew sharp and acidic. "That _filth_ you call food has messed with their bodies," I spat venomously, jabbing an accusatory finger towards his chest, the shiny silver buttons along the cuff of my extended sleeve gleaming menacingly in the torchlight, and my crimson eyes glittering with unbridled rage.

Although quite fearful of my unpredictable wrath, and staggering backwards a shaky step in response to my ferocious outburst, Carlisle mostly appeared confused. "But they no longer…"

"Yes, they have both been liberated from the experiment for a while now," came my curt, tight-lipped response, "but certainly you are aware that… in her _compassion,_ Carmen does not dine on human blood alone," I reminded him harshly, making it no mystery that I held an intense disdain for Carmen's prolonged, now self-inflicted, torture, and by extension, the one who had introduced her to the terrifyingly deleterious concept, as I loomed forward ominously, emphasizing my imposing power with my lean, rippling muscles and increased proximity.

"She tries to drink animal blood... whenever she can, yes," Carlisle admitted slowly, nervously "testing the waters" with his hesitant response, and furrowing his brow in concentration, as though speaking was somewhat of a difficult task, before drifting closer to the grimy stone wall to his left. "But eventually the hunger wears on her and she... gives in," he offered sadly, closing his eyes regretfully over the painful memories of Carmen's frequent losses of control, and the gory human deaths he had unfortunately witnessed as a result, and he propped a tense, white-knuckled hand against one of the stone walls, to support his sagging weight, as though his fatigue was so severe that he was struggling to remain on his feet. "Athenodora, of course, has switched back entirely... to human blood," he finished laboriously, his eyes flickering darkly with despair at the notion that Caius' beloved wife had returned to his side to feed with him in the throne room, before he leaned his face tiredly against the arm which was flush with the large cool stone and briefly closed his eyes.

"As she should," I coldly declared, shooting Carlisle an icy, reproving glare—_this was not something he could simply casually lean against a wall and ignore. _

"A-aro! Is something... is something wrong?" he stammered in bewildered shock at my insensitively blunt assertion, raising his head suddenly, and wobbling a few clumsy steps away from the wall in confounded fear.

"Yes, something is _very wrong, _Carlisle!" I shouted, enraged both at his unwitting causation of the horrendous effects his diet wrought upon a category of those who had endured it, and his obtuse resistance to concede fault in his continued feeding from animals. "It appears that living in your unhealthy manner, even only partially, as Carmen is, does horrific things to the female body!" I practically seethed, all thirty-two blunt white teeth clenched ferociously tight, and chest heaving with angry, ragged, unnecessary breaths as I wrestled to subdue the empathetic rage I felt, having touched Carmen myself and felt the indescribable pain of her loss through my gift that was a result of Carlisle's disastrous eating methods.

"…I know it does take some time... to r-recover," Carlisle replied compromisingly, attempting to assuage my suddenly rabid fury with his gentle, angelic tone, although it was marred with a befuddled shakiness that was unnerving, and he raised both hands to steady his slightly tilting forehead, as though troubled with waves of vertigo. "But her strength seems quite r-restored, the dark ci-circles have brightened, her s-skin is looking healthier…" he rambled on apprehensively, visibly flustered by my seemingly incomprehensible wrath, and even stumbling over some of his words as his lethargic tongue struggled to keep up with his rapid thoughts, probably as a result of his protracted period of unsatisfied thirst.

"You know that those are not my concern," I remarked in a softer, though equally caustic tone, skeptically surveying his seemingly dizzy behavior to ascertain whether it was merely an affectation to distract me, or it was a genuine indication of the severity of his condition. If it was the latter, then Carlisle could be in big trouble.

"…It is un-unfortunate what happens to our hair when we d-drink the b-blood of beasts…" he nervously supplied, evidently wholly unaware of which terrifying symptom I was so vastly perturbed by, and desperately grasping at whatever alarming physical difference between him and myself he could think of, hoping to eventually pinpoint which evidence of starvation had alighted in me such uncharacteristically fierce anger. I was somewhat worried for him, as it was entirely unlike him to make such mindless suggestions, and stutter so heavily in fear, but initially, in my wrath and efforts to make myself as frightening as possible, I dismissed it as a natural response to my imposing presence.

I scoffed bitterly. "Her hair is the _least_ of my concerns. Certainly perfectly lustrous hair becoming dull, brittle and breaking off at the top is not a sign of excellent health, but that hardly concerns me," I forthrightly dismissed with an apathetic gesture. "Eleazar may be livid, but his wife is undeterred by that fact alone," I clarified with a deep scowl. "No this goes much beyond that."

"I do not understand—what did you... what did you d-discover about... about her?" he asked cautiously, and I was beginning to sincerely suspect that his uncharacteristic stammering was a symptom of something worrisome, especially as he exhaustedly ducked his head for a few moments, presumably to rest his neck, before hefting it back up to look up with drowsy curiosity at me. I had never seen him this weak—just how long had he been down here foolishly ignoring his body's needs? Could he already be slipping away?

"…Carlisle… When was the last time you fed?" I asked, my baritone voice suddenly buttery smooth and warm with compassionate unease as I watched him rush to brace the wall with both hands now, clearly slipping in his control over his physical faculties, his muscles weakened to the point that he was no longer able to support his own weight, resulting in him sliding fractionally downwards even as he leaned heavily against the thick, solid surface.

Carlisle wearily lifted his eyelids, apparently unable to open his eyes entirely. "Ah... I do not remember," he sighed absently, and crossed his eyes in deep concentration as he struggled through thick brain fog to determine the date of his last feeding, "Perhaps..." he sighed softly, before a look of horrified comprehension rapidly dawned on his face. "Dear h-heavens has it really been _t-two months_?" he sputtered weakly, in astonished disbelief, before his eyelids flickered shut once more.

That was worse than I thought, for it meant he had missed not one, or two, but _four _meals.

Carlisle needed to feed, _now. _

But before I could suggest that he feed himself, all of a sudden Carlisle began tumbling backwards as a bout of lack-of-blood-induced-dizziness summarily seized him. His unsteady, jelly-like legs were not enough to keep him on his feet, and I watched in horror as he nearly toppled to the floor in an ungainly heap, before both of my arms darted forward and firmly caught his weak, limp arms, and pulled him roughly against my chest to prevent him from crashing unconsciously against such a hard surface. As I surveyed the quivering form in my arms, I gasped in terror as his head disturbingly rolled back on his neck, which no longer seemed strong enough to support it, and his limbs went totally limp in my tenacious grasp.

This was not good.

Terrified by his extreme symptoms, which I had only witnessed once before, in the last few hours before the vampire Caius and I had once starved here in the dungeons ceased moving altogether, I decided that this conversation, although crucial, needed to wait until after this emergency was dealt with. Shifting the eerily ragdollish vampire in my arms so that I was carrying him bridal-style, I swiftly ran towards the stairwell leading out of the dungeons, my stomach churning with the nauseating fear of losing him, and racking my panicking mind for a solution to this catastrophe. As I sprinted up the gloomy stairwell in the blink of an eye and bolted desperately into the bright hallway beyond, I determined at once that I would have to feed him human blood, and possessed neither the time nor the resources to sate his immensely far-gone thirst in a manner which was absent of mortal demise. It unsettled me to force Carlisle to feed in such a manner against his will, but I realized as he lied slumbering in my arms, only the occasional fluttering of eyelids and twitching of fingers to reassure me that he was still alive, either I had to risk losing his trust by saving his life, or helplessly watch him die in order to respect his wishes for humans to live.

And I wasn't about to watch my beloved friend die.

As I strode deeper into the corridor just above the dungeons with long powerful strides, I shouted at a piercing decibel which rang throughout the castle for my guard to lure all of the humans we kept in case of emergencies like this into the throne room, crying out that it was absolutely imperative that they follow my orders immediately and without question. I watched with grim satisfaction as the velvety black cloaks around me flurried hastily to fulfill my demands, and I flitted hurriedly into the throne room, making sure not to jar the precious unconscious vampire in my arms as I raced desperately into the ancient castle turret to impatiently wait for their arrival.

Hesitantly placing the back of my hand against Carlisle's quivering cheek, I saw the dizzy black spots swarming his vision, and felt his whirling confusion and fear, which was surrounded on all sides with a maddening thirst which was almost wholly overwhelming his hazy thoughts. Dread washed over me as I felt the familiar veil of death creeping over him, something that I had experienced far too many times in both humans and vampires, usually as I killed them, to mistake for anything else. Carlisle was dying—and if I didn't do something fast, it would be too late.

"Felix!" I barked at the brown-haired vampire who was standing idly by the entrance. "What are you doing? Carlisle is _dying, _fetch me a human, any human, at once!"

Felix stiffened frightfully before he suddenly vanished down the hallway for a few seconds, before he just as swiftly returned in the company of Demetri and Heidi, both of whom were very flustered, judging by their wind-tossed hair, and unkempt appearances, and were dragging several terrified, screaming men and women by the wrists over the cold stone floor into the room.

"Aro may I ask what is…" Heidi began respectfully, before her ruby eyes slowly fell upon the immobile, ghastly-looking vampire lying on the brink of death in my protectively cradling arms, and she immediately understood.

"Kill them. All of them," I commanded coldly, gesturing to the humans writhing and shrieking in their grips.

…

After all the ear-grating wailing had finally ceased, Heidi gently lied the two bodies she had produced in response to my commands at my feet and quickly walked out of the room, with high red stiletto heels clacking against the polished floors, pleased that she had done what was required of her. Demetri and Felix followed her imperious lead, but left the throne room with a little more hesitance—unwilling to abandon me with a starving vampire, until I fiercely shooed them away to give us some privacy.

Carlisle was in absolutely no condition to feed himself, and so I made a split-second decision as to how to remedy this predicament. Biting harshly into the neck of the nearest dead human, a young woman, in her late twenties, I sucked as much blood into my mouth as my cheeks would hold, and without swallowing the slightest drop, I lifted slowly from her neck before turning quickly and dipping my head to where Carlisle's lay. Parting his soft alabaster lips with my fingers, I pressed my mouth firmly against his, to allow the blood within to flow past my tongue and down into his dry, burning throat. Carlisle swallowed the substance slowly, but otherwise made no indication that he was still alive—He needed more blood. So I repeated the process, drinking from the humans before me, and transferring the blood into his mouth, continuing to feed him in this peculiar manner, growing more and more distressed as his mind remained utterly blank, and he made no movement except to swallow what I offered him.

I was about to give up, after I had fed him the entirety of the second human when he shifted slightly in my arms, and his thoughts, though hazy, resumed in his mind. Delighted, and relieved, I set about feeding him the third human, careful to not let any blood slip past my lips onto my chin or drip wastefully on the floor—for Carlisle needed every last drop. He began to stir, and through my gift I could tell that his mind was beginning to process the sensations his body was experiencing, the hot blood pouring down his throat, the cool brush of my lips over his, the dull tug against his neck as my frantic hands grasped the collar of his splotchy cotton button-up shirt in desperation for him to live. He was, presently, unperturbed by the fact that I was feeding him human blood, or that, in any other situation, my lips having this much contact with his could be easily misconstrued as terrifyingly romantic, but instead accepted my frantic offerings with resigned pleasure, savoring the delightful taste, and wonderful feeling of human blood splashing across his tongue.

It wasn't until I began to feed him the fourth human, however, that his eyes flickered open and he be upset with our current arrangement. I paused, before Carlisle's gaze lazily swept across the room, and he quickly surmised what was going on. I stiffened, expecting him to try to leap to his feet and run away, and prepared to restrain him so that I might continue until he was healthy, but instead he simply closed his eyes, tilted his head back and parted his lips, as if to silently petition me to feed him more. Before his hyperactive conscience demanded otherwise, I swiftly drank more blood from the neck of the fourth mortal, pressed my lips to Carlisle's and slowly opened them to allow the blood to spill into his mouth.

It surprised me that Carlisle merely passively waited for me to finish feeding him. His hand reached out to tenderly grasp mine to assure me that he was alive, and getting stronger, but bewilderingly, he seemed content to allow me to continue, despite the fact that I saw in his mind that he clearly knew what was going on. The deaths of the humans I was feeding him disturbed him, but he realized that there was nothing he could do to revive them, knew that I would only fight with him if he attempted to struggle away from this, and felt that allowing me to finished what I had started to save his life was the best thanks he could offer.

It touched me, in a bizarre way that he was willing to let me feed him now, for my peace of minds' sake, and I treasured these moments, knowing that this would likely be the only time I would have the opportunity to witness Carlisle so at ease with the consumption of human blood. When at last the fifth and final human brought to me was drained, I was about to call for another, when Carlisle suddenly sat up and shook his head, his eyes wide, and bright crimson, to let me know that his thirst was finally completely satisfied.

I wanted to cry—not from sadness, but in joy—the sight of Carlisle with red-flushed cheeks, bloodstained lips, pale lavender shadows beneath his eyes, properly colored skin, and eyes bright with the evidence of his satiation, was beautiful to behold. For the first time in his immortal existence, Carlisle was finally healthy.

But I also feared that it would be the last time.

...

"There was something you wished to discuss, before I impolitely fainted on you," Carlisle reminded me sometime later, after he and I had amicably settled the issue myself giving him what I, Bella, supposed was the vampire version of CPR, with him swearing a solemn oath that a repeat occurrence would not be necessary, and with myself swearing to never harm another human being for his sake.

I, Aro, was honestly surprised that Carlisle remembered that—he had been rather incoherent before he had fallen unconscious.

"It was hardly _impolite,_" I expressed, confounded and mildly concerned by his self-deprecating interpretation of the event. "It was not as if you meant to."

"True, nonetheless it was my own neglect, for which I am the only one to blame, which led to my loss of consciousness," he countered apologetically, with the tiniest humble dip of his head, and a strong pale hand spreading in a guilty motion over his frozen heart, clearly submerged in fathomless shame for allowing his health to deteriorate to the point that I was driven to kill in order to prevent the termination of his existence.

I sighed—_he was never going to get over his need to blame himself was he?. I was the one who decided to slaughter those men and women, not he. _

Seeing the insatiable curiosity wriggling just beneath the surface in every graceful masculine curve of his body, I decided to answer his question, although I would have preferred to reveal this crucial piece of information when the sting of mortal death was not so fresh upon his fragile soul. I knew that telling him this piece of information would hardly have the persuasive effect I desired now, but in my own deep regret over being forced into a situation where I had to betray my dear friend in order to preserve him, I was anxious to give him anything he wished, as my penance for not having intervened sooner and saved him in a more morally palatable manner.

"I was going to tell you that, although Athenodora and the other females formerly under your charge seem to be recovering nicely, Carmen, because of her continued reliance on such an inferior substance, is now barren, unable to carry children," I iterated gravely.

Carlisle looked at me quizzically with his jarring crimson eyes. "That is hardly my fault, as vampires, we are frozen, unchanging, and thus it only logically follows that the female body is incapable of making the changes necessary to accommodate a child."

"Is that what you think?" _Had he been so blind to not see it… perhaps… his only female contact was with his test subjects, which of course would have been made barren by their starvation._ "You have not noticed it then… with my wife."

"Is there something unusual about Sulpicia?" He asked nervously, clearly uncomfortable about discussing the topic of my spouse, especially since she was precisely physically his "type", and it greatly unnerved him that he was unwittingly very sexually attracted to his best friend's mate, and said best friend could read his every lustful thought about her. In truth, his physical fascination with Sulpicia did not upset me, because his "lascivious" thoughts were actually rather tame, and I knew that with his beliefs which allotted adultery a very similar eternal sentence as murder, he would never touch her. Besides, it was, in my mind, impossible _not _to think my wife was beautiful (I would not have mated and married her otherwise) and I had seen the minds of plenty of men who had thought of doing much, _much_ worse things with her because of it.

I wished I could tell Carlisle that he did not have to beat himself up over his perfectly natural desire for her for my sake, but I knew that telling Carlisle that I knew of his attraction to my wife would positively mortify him, so I left it alone.

"No. But apparently you have not observed female vampire kind closely enough," I observed disapprovingly.

"…I do try to be respectful of their modesty…" He whispered embarrassedly, gazing avoidantly at the floor and nervously shuffling his black heeled feet,

"Her stomach. Surely you have seen…"

"She keeps herself fully-clothed at all times in my presence, Aro!" Carlisle interjected loudly, to make sure I was well aware that he had never trespassed upon my exclusive right to view that particular portion of her voluptuous anatomy without the hindrance of cloth.

I frowned and rolled my eyes. _Of course_. My wife was no exhibitionist. "…Yes… but fabric can hardly hide the evidence," I explained slowly, vaguely, assuring him with a calming gesture that I wholeheartedly believed that Carlisle had made no untoward moves on my wife.

"The evidence of what?" He asked anxiously, torn between insatiable curiosity over what I was going to say and insurmountable fear that I was going to relate inappropriately sensuous details about my marital relationship.

"The evidence of her fertility," I clarified matter-of-factly. "Sulpicia is carrying my child."


	14. Chapter 13: Propagation

**AN: Yes, if you look up starvation in humans almost all of the symptoms referenced in the last several chapters are there—including the loss of fertility in women in extreme cases. When I was doing the research for this fanfiction and came across that, I figured I would roll with it. More on that will be explained in this chapter, I promise—I'm going to try to make it make as much sense as possible, without disrupting canon too much. **

**Just to recap what we've learned (since it's been kind of spread out) we now know that animal blood is so gross that unless a vampire is starving, their gag reflex will force it back up again. This means that if a vampire drinks human blood but wants their next meal to be animal blood they have to either discover a method to override their gag reflex or wait for a few months until their bodies are starving again. ****We also know that starvation in vampires causes greenish skin, dark circles, less speed and less strength, and brittle hair, which breaks off short, and stops growing. **

**Those with physical powers normally require more human blood because of the strain their powers exert on their bodies, so the tiny nourishment that animal blood provides is even less helpful for them-leading those with physical powers to deteriorate more rapidly. Those with mental powers eat a little more than those without powers at all, but both vampires we know who have mental powers that drink animal blood use their powers to alleviate or distract from their pain. Vampires without powers are the most "comfortable" on a diet of animal blood, but still experience quite a bit of pain and without restraints, would eventually succumb to the draw of human blood. **

**Crazy right? **

**Anyway on with the show! Oh wait... first a disclaimer...**

**Warning: this chapter does mention stuff revolving around how babies are made—nothing smutty, mind you, but it does bring up some technical facets which have the potential to alarm extremely sensitive readers. I think most everyone who has endured some or all of high school will think this is rather tame, but this is just as head's up.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Propagation<strong>

_Wait a minute, she is_ _what_? I, Bella, thought in utter disbelief, suddenly finding myself very much me again, as Lucretia's tiny icy hand slowly extricated itself from mine, and the centuries-old images of the dingy castle dungeons rapidly melted away into my brighter present-day surroundings. _I must have heard wrong, vampires can't do that, _I rationalized to myself as I felt the red veil of my mental barrier rush back into my mind and flow over my skin like a warm bubble bath—refreshing and comforting in its presence, and thankfully harmless, now that Lucretia was no longer touching me. _Aro has a wife and she is…_

"Pregnant. With child. Expecting. Bringing a new life into the world. Whatever you want to call it…" Aro spoke unexpectedly, his cool, velvety voice sounding so very strange saying such unusual, uncomfortably feminine things, especially as his gorgeous pale lips rolled over the syllables most men butchered in their awkwardness, with unruffled ease.

I fiercely shook my head, refusing to accept his words. "But… but that's impossible!" I protested weakly, my gaze flickering desperately over to Edward and Alice to back me up, but both of their faces were totally impassive, completely accepting of Aro's devastating words. "Rosalie said that when vampires change, they're frozen in the moment of their transformation… they can't change or grow past that, so obviously their bodies can't handle morphing to make room for a baby!" I defended desperately, positively terrified by the horrible implications if what she had told me was, in fact, another of the Cullens' many lies, for that would mean that Rosalie was barred from her greatest desire not by nature, but by Carlisle's choice to keep her ignorant. And if that was the case, then Rosalie would be beyond livid if she ever found out she had been deceived for all this time.

"When the venom enters our system it is true that we are frozen in that same year of development," Aro clarified softly with his chocolaty, melodic voice as he gradually detached his large hand from Titania's chubby white fingers, and gracefully swept over the ancient, dusty floor in my direction, his midnight black cape and robes billowing majestically behind him. "But for healthy vampires, we still continue to grow hair and can adapt as is necessary for procreation," he explained delicately, giving his silky ebony locks a slight, frivolous toss, before settling his hands over the shoulders of the adorable twin vampires between us. "It is only in unhealthy vampires that the body determines there is not enough energy for such things."

"I don't understand…." I muttered in nervous denial, still waiting anxiously for any sign, no matter how marginal, of disagreement or protest from Edward and Alice, as they watched the events unfold in neutral silence, and a slight scowl began to mar Edward's marble-esque face as he remained kneeling, helpless and armless, against the light brown stone floor several feet away. Alice stood expressionlessly behind him, offering neither affirmation nor negation of Aro's earth-shattering assertion, and Demetri and Felix flanked her on both sides, struggling, even with their supernatural strength to subdue Edward's detached but still wildly flopping appendages. It was disturbing to realize that, although I had experienced two decades of a vampire's lifetime through the gifts of the tiny dark-haired twins, no more than a few minutes had passed in the present, and Edward had not been pieced back together during my short mental absence.

"Humans who are starving experience the same symptoms of brittle hair and infertility when their deprivation becomes severe enough," Aro expounded academically, flickering a meaningful glance at one of the cloaked figures in the crowd, presumably a woman who had experienced those effects during her mortal life. "Why then is it so strange that vampires who are insufficiently nourished suffer similarly?" he challenged rhetorically, spreading his powerful arms—the supernaturally strong and lithe appendages which had been "mine" not too long ago—wide in a gesture which suggested there was no other logical conclusion.

"But… that means…" I sputtered pathetically, still unwilling to accept it, now desperately sweeping my eyes over the curtain of black clinging agitatedly to the edges of the room, clearly made irritable by the considerable delay of their scheduled meal, to see if any of Aro's subordinates visibly questioned his line of reasoning. Of course my searching was to no avail—for their faces were either too heavily shrouded in the shadow of their austere hoods, too wild with dark burgundy-eyed thirst, or too firmly blank to discern if any among the Volturi guard dared to doubt the declarations of their master.

"Yes, Bella. Rosalie has no idea," Edward grimly confirmed, with a labored shake of his weary head. "Carlisle has kept her in the dark on purpose," he added sourly, his distaste for the vampire I had come to care a lot more deeply for through Aro's thoughts gratingly evident, but his distaste for his vain, surrogate sister was somehow even stronger—acrid to the point that it was almost pungently tangible. "You do understand what she would do if she knew, right?"

I swallowed thickly. I did know.

Rosalie had never been particularly fond of humanity as a whole, or even most people when she bothered to get to know them on an individual basis, and had already murdered five people—albeit out of revenge, rather than for their blood—so to her, it would probably seem insignificant to murder complete strangers if their deaths would bring her closer to her life's greatest aspiration: her burning desire to have children. If she ever learned that human blood could give that opportunity back to her, all of Carlisle's teachings about valuing human life would be hastily thrown out the window without ever being looked back at; made entirely meaningless to her by their hindrance of her maternal goals. She would be merciless, and remorseless—a monster, and a terrifying mother—regardless of what any of the Cullens might say or do to try to stop her. She would listen to no one, probably not even Emmett, and would kill every human on the planet if she had to—that was the depth of her hunger to have children.

"Rosalie would kill to have babies," I conceded sadly, chewing slightly on my lower lip and gazing mournfully into Edward's lifeless, melted honey-eyes.

Edward nodded sadly, and the left corner of Alice's lips twitched slightly, as though she was suppressing a smile—like she herself was considering the prospect of drinking human blood in order to have a child with Jasper, and was elated to finally have that opportunity, but was attempting unsuccessfully to mask her joy for my sake. A shiver of horror went down my spine as I imagined the short, pixie-like vampire I had come to love as my sister with a slight baby bulge, leaping with lethal intent onto my classmates back in Forks, and latching animalistically onto their vulnerable necks in order to feed the tiny life growing inside her. The ghastly vision clashed so jarringly with what I thought I knew about the spunky, peaceful girl, that I felt like the entire world had been flipped upside down and violently smashed apart.

There were certain things that just _were_ and were incapable of being any other way—the sun being bright, dirt being brown, water being wet, Alice refusing to hurt humans for any reason, vampires being sterile, the Cullens' vegetarianism working for them…. But recent evidence seemed to indicate that the last three of those "facts" were not true, and now I was starting to consider the dangerous possibility that everything—_everything _I had ever been taught by the golden-eyed family about managing bloodlust, about supernatural gifts, and about vampires in general—was horribly, _horribly_ wrong. And since I had wanted to become one, based on what I had seen from the Cullens, I now had to stop and question that desire which I had harbored so ardently—did I really want immortality if it meant drinking human blood? I suppose I did not necessarily have to kill… but to draw out blood inconspicuously while leaving humans alive was much more difficult and likely to meet both the Cullens' and the Volturi's disapproval, and I really would prefer not to endure eternity in complete solitude.

I frowned and hesitantly looked back over at Aro's "daughters" who were still holding hands, and apparently having some sort of silent conversation in their minds, and it suddenly struck me that, in light of the recent revelation, the young twin girls could actually be Aro's biological, vampire-born children. I looked up at Aro with a desperate searching look in my eyes, and asked with extreme trepidation: "Lucretia… Titania… are they…?"

"Yes, dearest Isabella," Aro finished for me with a sly grin, and fluidly directed an elegant, embroidery-clad arm in the direction of the two ruby-eyed children standing eerily still between us, flickering emotionally-laden glances at each other and occasionally at myself or Aro as their secretive internal exchange proceeded. "They are my actual offspring, conceived and brought into this world as vampires, by vampires."

"…You and…" I struggled to say it, unwilling to face that fact that this intoxicating man was already taken, "_your wife… _created these children?"

Aro's smile turned darkly sensual in response to my timid hint at the natural reproduction process, and I bit back the urge to gasp as his sultry gaze seemed to set every nerve of my body aflame with passionate desire. "Certainly you are an adult and understand how these things work, dearest Isabella," he said, his voice thickly dripping with provocative suggestion, and a deep red blush blossomed over my cheeks at his insinuation that perhaps I was sexually ignorant. "…Of course…" I defended softly, mortified by how awkward this conversation was getting and how much sadistic pleasure Aro seemed to be gleaning from my discomfort in discussing these things with him—especially when I now knew that romantically, he was entirely out of my reach.

Aro chuckled. "Then I hardly need to say anymore," he purred with his velvety voice, making my spine tingle with excitement, and a bittersweet flurry of butterflies to swarm in my stomach. "They are as much my daughters are you are Charlie's," he added with a soft, paternal smile, as he drifted closer to his daughters, who detached their linked hands in response to his approach and buried their adorable little fingers into the sumptuous fabric of his cape.

I stiffened at the mention of my very fragile, human father.

Noticing my horror-stricken expression, Aro's proud grin melted into a look of grandfatherly concern, "Don't worry, I intend him no harm either, so long as he does not poke his head where it does not belong."

"He knows nothing," I rushed to say, determined to protect my dad from a cruel and vindictive death for a crime that had not been committed.

"Yes. Edward showed me as much," Aro offered reassuringly, sweeping a cordial hand towards the dismembered vampire, before settling it lovingly on Titania's raven-haired head. "You need not worry, dearest Isabella, I will ensure that as long as your father remains in the dark, he will not perish at our hands," he promised with fervent sincerity.

I nodded slowly, accepting his terms, and begging the greater cosmos that whatever happened to me here, my father would be smart enough to keep his nose out of it, despite his love for me and his deeply investigative nature—even if I would never see him again, I hated to think of his life being cut horribly short because he was unwilling to let me go without answers.

"I still don't completely get it though… Alice, you said that creating immortal children was a crime," I said, perplexed by the apparent inconsistency, as I turned to my black-eyed, spiky-haired friend in a futile attempt to get some kind of verbal response out of her since this conversation had started. But instead of replying to my pressing question, however, Alice merely kept her mouth set into a hard line, and refused to breathe. Perhaps she was too thirsty to trust herself enough to open her mouth, I realized in terror—having felt for myself through Carlisle's memories just how severe black-eyed thirst really was.

After a few moments of tense silence, Aro made a soft sound, like clearing his throat, to get my attention and answered in Alice's place: "Transforming human children into vampires is a crime because they are untamable," he explained with a remorseful expression, and his tiny daughters fearfully buried their heads into his robes at the mention of their mortal-turned-vampire counterparts, as though they knew full-well the brutal end that invariably met those poor children and their caretakers. "Physically frozen in the year of their transformation, no matter how often they are scolded, or told the important of keeping our secret, with their immature brains they are wholly incapable of truly understanding," he continued gravely, gently rubbing the heads of his positively terrified daughters in reassuring motion, most likely to remind them that they were completely different than those of which he spoke, and thus perfectly safe from destruction.

"For a while I kept a pair of these 'immortal children' under observation, to see if they ever could be trained," he related matter-of-factly, pressing the pale tips of his fingers together in a motion that I now knew intimately well—as those had been "my" hands no too long ago. "I learned that they can gain incredible knowledge of facts and languages, but could never develop the cognitive ability to set something as abstract as the protection of the vampire world above their immediate wants. That rational part of their neural physiology could never be developed," he lamented, evidently recalling the ghastly punishment he was forced to dole out upon those mesmerizingly adorable children as a result. "Because they cannot be controlled or taught, they are a liability to our secret, and must be eradicated," he declared with unquestionable finality, and the twins clinging to his luxurious clothes visibly flinched, and clung even tighter to his cape, which I was surprised did not tear from the pressure being frightfully exerted on it.

"Born-vampires, however, do not remain children forever," he quickly clarified, as much to answer my question as to appease his violently trembling daughters, whom he continued to stroke calmingly and coo in soft whispers that everything was alright. "Although the outward process is slow, eventually they will grow up into responsible adults, and are comparatively extremely teachable," he said, beaming down at Lucretia and Titania with fatherly pride at how far they had already come and their immense potential for the future. "They may be somewhat wild at first, as all children are," he spoke with contented nostalgia over earlier, more rambunctious years of his daughters' immortal lives, "but it is a manageable wildness, and it does not persist eternally."

_So born-vampires would eventually grow up, but since immortal children could not, they had to be destroyed—I guess that made sense_. But from all of Titania's and Lucretia's fearful reactions, I was led to assume that they had been mistaken for immortal children before, and why wouldn't they—_how could anyone, even Aro, tell the difference?_

"…But how do you know… if you find a young vampire that you haven't watched grow… how do you know whether they're an immortal child or a born-vampire?" I asked, desperately hoping Aro would not simply say something horrific like "we guess," and actually had some sort of surefire method for distinguishing slowly growing children from utterly frozen ones.

Aro looked a little shocked that I hadn't figured it out already. "Through my gift, of course," he clarified, bewildered that I wouldn't have deduced as much, especially after having spent two decades in his thoughts and I wanted to slap myself for the second time today—_no duh, with one touch he would be able to see their whole lives, and by extension, whether or not they had grown as vampires during that time._ I kept forgetting how nifty his power was, because it was really quite the double-edged sword, just as much of a curse as it was a blessing.

"How long does it take… for them to grow up?" I questioned, curious as to how old his daughters really were, and how long it would take them to become the full-fledged adults that Aro seemed absolutely certain they would eventually blossom into. They did not look more than six or seven years of age, but given that Aro had said their growth was slow, perhaps even glacial in its pacing, knowing of their species' similarities with ice, they could be decades or even centuries old, despite barely reaching past the development of toddlers. I hated to think that the terrible-twos had possibly lasted for several decades, and both pitied and admired Aro for being so patient with their lethargic maturing process.

"Ah… it varies, but it usually takes between a century and a half to two centuries until they reach full maturity," he sighed wistfully, as though that was such a short time and he paradoxically wished that he could both cherish his children as tiny and perfectly adorable forever, and also not have to endure the hard phases of their maturing process for very long. "Titania and Lucretia are barely fifty," he spoke as though that time was almost nothing, and I suppose to him, it was.

If there was one thing I had learned about people—humans and vampires alike, is that one's perception of time was largely based on how old they were, and the best way to get an accurate feel for how long something seemed to another (especially someone as vastly older than myself as Aro), was to calculate what percentage that span of time was out of their entire lifespan thus-far. As a three-thousand-plus-year-old vampire, some quick mental math revealed that fifty years was just shy of two-percent of his life, and by comparison two-percent of my eighteen-year-old life was approximately four months… which although not _nothing, _was an awfully short time for someone to go from infancy to middle childhood. I gasped as I realized that for a vampire to progress to full-adulthood, even if it took the full two centuries, would only take up seven-percent of Aro's durative lifespan which translated into roughly a year and a half in my life. It was staggering to think about how he must feel—it would be like blinking and suddenly realizing that your tiny infant was now in college mastering computational physics and Mandarin Chinese.

Which also meant that the two decades I had just lived through in Aro's mind, in a rather censored fashion—having not experienced any of his feedings, killings or sexual encounters during that time, but having felt nearly everything else—were hardly a droplet in his ocean of lifetime memories.

I was totally blown away.

And then I was stricken with sympathetic terror—did their aging mean that his daughters would eventually grow wrinkles and pass away, as well?

"Since born-vampires grow, does that mean that they will eventually…" I looked worriedly at his tiny trembling daughters and swallowed thickly, "…die?"

Aro swiftly shook his head, and I wanted to release an empathic, audible sigh of relief. "Our bodies do not break down with age, as humans do. Once they attain it, my daughters will remain at the appearance of their prime for the rest of their existences," he explained with a reverential smile, as though silently thanking the gods that he would not be cruelly forced to watch his children pass away before him.

"And you've seen this happen…?" I asked curiously, my inquisitive brown eyes flickering through the crowd of antsy cloaked figures congregated around the edges of the room, searching for any other young vampires like Lucretia and Titania or any which bore obvious resemblance to Aro, but although a wide range of ages and ethnicities were present, none of the immortals my examining gaze fell upon seemed to fit the bill—at least not as far as my inferior senses could tell. I knew that there were other potential parents besides Aro and his wife among the Volturi—for I had also noticed the silver band Caius wore on his left ring finger earlier today, knew from Aro's memories that he was married to a lovely strawberry blonde named Athenodora—but none of the unshrouded faces glittering in the rectangular shafts of light looked much like a combination of them either.

"Many times," he responded coolly, giving both of his daughters on last, lingering touch before breaking away from their desperate clutching and floating majestically closer to where I stood, causing my breath to momentarily hitch in my throat as my weak human nose caught the barest hint of his alluring scent. "The daughter my wife, Sulpicia gave birth to only a few short months after that last memory I showed you has long since grown and left us roughly a century ago," he sighed pensively, as though somewhat pained by her departure from the coven, but his features flickered contradictingly with understanding—the fatherly comprehension that, although he had no desire to relinquish his precious princess, she had developed into a fully-fledged adult and needed to follow her own path.

"Additionally, I have witnessed a great number of other born-vampires maturing both within these halls and around the world. For my wife and I are hardly the only ones to desire offspring," he explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and he cast a glance, heavy-laden with disapproval, towards Edward—most probably recalling Rosalie's profound maternal instincts, and Edward's pungent distaste towards her answering them. Edward gritted his teeth and a low snarl rumbled in the base of this throat in response to Aro's reproachful gaze.

"…but Victoria and James…" I protested weakly, my resolve to deny what was rapidly becoming crystal clear faltering and sputtering out with my failing words.

"I said that my wife and I were not the _only _immortals to wish for children. Not that _every_ mated couple of our kind desired them," Aro summarily clarified, to explain my incomprehension as to why the formerly furiously in-love couple had never been accompanied by any obvious offspring during our few hazardous encounters. From Alice's current straining expression, Esme's natural fit as a mother-figure for the Cullen family, and Rosalie's passionately vocalized desire to conceive, it seemed to me that all female vampires wished to be mothers—but perhaps that was simply another strange anomaly about the Cullen family, or even an obsession triggered by a subconscious knowledge that childbearing should be an _option _for them, at least. The fact that deep, deep down their bodies knew having children was something they should be capable of, but they had been fed flagrant lies about their infertility, would almost indefinitely cause a great deal of inner turmoil, and perhaps a primal longing for that which should be rightfully available to them, but was inexplicably denied.

Aro continued. "Many human pairs forego reproduction for a variety of reasons, even though it is necessary for their continued survival. Because we are perfectly capable of propagating our kind through other means, the incidence of our kind desiring such a thing is much rarer—the instincts to become parents are weaker, more easily overridden by the vast inconveniences vampire-born children present."

I swiftly turned my curious eyes towards the twins again, and pondered the paltry information I had learned about them—particularly the fact that their aging progressed at an agonizing, centurial pace, and that—although Aro had claimed it was "manageable"—they were somewhat wild during the early years. Victoria and James had lived nomadically, mostly out in the wilderness, from what I understood, rather than safely holed away underground as the Volturi did, and had no strong, lasting ties with any other vampires, except perhaps Laurent, to assist them in caring for a tiny, nigh-indestructible, petulant and thirsty little monster. The effort just to keep the young toddler from exposing vampirekind by slaughtering whenever it was hungry, would be difficult enough—but to also have to deal with childish antics, and later teenage rebellion, both also probably enhanced by their immortality would be exhausting. Only the most resourceful and self-sacrificing of vampires would be able to endure it, I realized.

"So it's extremely rare for vampires to have kids, right?" I asked, just to make sure, but Aro gently shook his head, a few strands of his midnight black hair caressing my face as they whirled beautifully around us. "Atypical, is perhaps a better description. The word 'rare' makes it sound like it almost never happens, but that is not the case," he offered instead, before suddenly twisting and lifting his right arm towards the ornate wooden exit door through which Caius and several others had departed minutes before, before moving and settling upon a tall, pale woman of Greek descent with strawberry blonde hair falling in thick curls all the way down her slender back. "Caius and his wife have also become parents," Aro declared, and I was surprised that the wrathful, sadistic immortal which I had come to understand as the most ruthless and instinctual of the Volturi from Aro's memories, would choose to become a father, until my eyes finally focused more intently on the woman Aro was pointing at.

From Aro's memories I recognized her as Athenodora, and was delighted to notice that her hair—which had become freakishly brittle and had broken off into a short, spiky disarray much like Edward and Alice's while she was a part of Carlisle's experiment, was now long, luscious and strong. There was a healthy white glow to her skin, which was faint in my unfocused human vision, but now that I knew it was there, and had seen the stark contrast between it and Carlisle's greenish pallor through an ancient vampire's keen eyes, it was utterly impossible to miss. She was extremely thin, angular, and like most modern fashion supermodels, she was extremely flat-chested and lacked almost all evidence of typical feminine curves—the visual antithesis of motherhood—and yet even in her waxing thirst, her deep burgundy eyes were warm with a maternal compassion. I had seen that same look in my own mother's eyes—it was one that no female on earth could replicate without having the experience of giving birth to a child.

Or several—Aro had not specified how many children she and Caius had created together. I suppose it was irrelevant, as however many of them there were, evidently they were not in the room, and it was highly possible that they had long since left Italy and sought territories elsewhere.

"Okay… but then how come Carlisle never noticed that vampires could have kids… at least until you told him?" I questioned, bewildered by the fact that Carlisle could remain so oblivious to such an important piece of information for nearly two decades of living with the apparently fertile vampires.

Aro sighed, as though he too was somewhat perplexed by this, though he answered: "The subject never came up before then. I assumed he was aware that our kind was fertile, because the evidence is really quite obvious."

I made a confused expression—_obvious how_? None of the female vampires in the castle happened to have been carrying children during those years, at least until the memories had suddenly cut off with the revelation of Sulpicia's pregnancy.

"The scent of a female vampire shifts slightly as she progresses through her… fertile cycle," Aro explained delicately, and a vivid rose blush suffused across my cheeks as I heard the ancient vampire comfortably allude to menstrual periods with unflappable ease. Felix and Demetri both blanched—at least, they looked like they would have if there was any blood to drain from their alabaster faces. Clearly they were disturbed by the turn this conversation was taking.

Aro continued, wholly oblivious to their embarrassed terror: "They do not bleed as human women do, you understand, but internally there are changes made every five or six years to accommodate the potential presence of a new life."

With a embarrassedly blushing face from discussing such an intimate womanly topic in front of such a large audience of men and women who were essentially complete strangers, I nodded numbly to indicate that I understood. It made sense really—Carlisle had mentioned casually in one of the memories I had been shown that vampires didn't create any waste fluids, and all of the chemicals within, including the blood they drank, could be broken down and absorbed as energy into their tissues with almost one-hundred-percent efficiency, or dried up when they were unusable or no longer needed. Thus, whatever fluid accumulated in the womb of these immortal women to cushion the "baby" that may or may not be conceived there would not need to be flushed out when the process was concluded, for which I discovered I was extremely grateful.

The idea of being forced to endure the gross and painful trauma of periods for all of eternity was horrifying—luckily, though, that would not be the case, even if I did drink human blood and retain my fertility.

I resisted the urge to heave a sigh of relief. Vampires really did have everything perfect—well, except for having murderous instincts, but I was trying hard not to think too hard about that right now. The fact that vampires could have children was all still so fascinating and new, I couldn't tolerate any terrifying ethical distractions.

"Of course, Carlisle probably never lingered in the presence of healthy female vampires long enough to notice," Aro mused aloud, speaking more to himself than anyone else in the cavernous room as his dexterous fingers stroked his smooth, marble-like chin. "You see," he said softly, coiling his body back into its original position, boring his mesmerizing burgundy eyes into mine as the melodic, silky syllables left his smoldering lips. "He trusted himself around his female test subjects because they were all unhealthy and furious with him. Healthy female vampires, however, terrified him—especially the older ones."

"Why? They weren't going to hurt him, were they?" I asked, and cast a few frantic, worried glances at the dark-eyed women in the crowd of twenty or so human-drinking vampires congregated in this room, who were starting to get antsy as Caius had, shortly before he stormed out in fiery rage, licking the glistening venom off their blindingly white teeth, and sending dark, murderous looks in my direction as the conversation between myself and Aro wore on much longer than they had expected. My last worried look settled on Aro, whose piercing eyes were steadily growing darker, and who also unconsciously flicked his pink tongue over the corner of his lips to catch the clear, thick liquid dripping there.

He was getting very thirsty, and his body was reacting predictably to my delicious presence, which caused me to stiffen with fear, and Aro to cautiously float a few steps backward, as he too, took notice of the effects my tantalizing scent was having on him. So quickly I nearly missed it he waved a hand in the direction of the most agitated vampires, a tiny flicker of movement, which apparently signaled that they were free to leave and seek food as soon as they desired to—as a few vampires swiftly marched out of the room in response, with a couple more trailing hesitantly after.

"Not physically," Aro proceeded, as though nothing had occurred, completely ignoring the feral, gleeful snarls which echoed off the high stone walls as a party of eight or so vampires dashed out of the room and tore hungrily down the hallway after their prey. "But when we consume our natural sustenance, our pheromones are stronger, and they only increase in potency with age," he explained placidly, taking another few steps back and shaking himself slightly to snap himself out of it as he caught himself gazing longingly at the temptingly exposed swath of warm flesh that was my neck. It was impressive that he was able to keep himself from slipping up and talking about my blood, rather than the topic at hand as Jasper had a few times when he became thirsty and flustered in my presence—but I suspected that having endured much worse deprivation in the minds of others, he had developed a resilience that few others, without some sort of powers curbing their instincts, could achieve.

"Normally, our kind is only slightly more affected by it than mortals are with each other's scents, because we all smell heavenly, but since Carlisle's own pheromones were weak, the effects our scents could have on him were staggering."

I struggled to process the implications of his words—until it hit me like a ton of bricks.

_Is that why I'm ridiculously attracted to him? _I wondered. _Because of his pheromones? If they really are as potent as he suggests, then I guess I can't really blame myself, it's just chemistry, nothing more, nothing less. But that also means the attraction I'm feeling is totally one-sided, which of course it is, because he has a wife. Damn it. _

"Something else troubles you though," he remarked observantly, and inwardly I cursed my extremely readable face, because I desperately wanted to weasel out of this one, but knew that with Aro, now that he was unnervingly fascinated by my secret thoughts, I couldn't.

"Okay so… this is really awkward, but… do you and… _your wife _use birth control or something, or…" but as soon as the words left my lips I wished I could take them back—it really was not my place to ask, but my burning curiosity, as per usual, got ahead of me this time.

"Ah… you wonder why, in my thousands of years of marriage, why I only have three children," he breathed comprehendingly, apparently completely unoffended by my massively personal question. Edward, on the other hand looked like he was going to be sick, and Felix and Demetri's darkening eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets from horrified surprise.

"..Er… yeah…" I nodded embarrassedly. _I really need to go bury myself alive right now because Aro is way more comfortable with these sorts of things than me, and he's a biological male—a biological male who is probably the only one who can truthfully say that he knows what menstruation and childbirth are like, because he had most definitely experienced them through his gift, but still… _

"You have likely already deduced that no physical barrier would ever be strong enough to withstand the… ah… _incredible pressure_," he explained as politely as possible, making it painfully clear in the least explicit way that no condoms on earth could withstand vampiric strength. "And any medications made by humans for that purpose would be incompatible with our physiology—as our chemical makeup is entirely different from that of mortals," he added, to clarify as to why the entirely motley assortment of pregnancy-preventing pills would be ineffective in counteracting their natural processes. "Therefore, it is true that, if my wife and I were human and had no means of preventing conception, we would have produced many, _many _children. But because of our immortal state, processes like hair growth and fertility occur at a much slower rate than that of humans," he stipulated scientifically, and I recalled what I had learned about vampire hair-growth and cell-growth in general from Aro's early 18th century memories—that in healthy vampires all cells continued much as they had when they were human, with the exceptions that dead cells were recycled until there was nothing left, instead of merely cast off the body, and the growth process was much, _much_ slower.

"Female fertility is also greatly impacted by one's diet" Aro pressed on, as much to satisfy my curiosity as to vex Felix and Demetri, who seemed to be debating whether to drop the wriggling arms in their hands in order to plug their ears, or retain their grasp on Edward's flailing appendages but be forced to endure the rest of this nasty conversation. "The blood of a singer makes our women the most fertile, and while female vampires can conceive while consuming lesser human blood, it is much, much rarer. Thus, depending on what my wife consumes, I can predict the likelihood of conception and either try to avoid it or instigate it," he elucidated with a cruelly erotic smirk contorting the shape of his beatific lips as his thoughts most probably drifted lustfully back towards the white hot memories of intimate moments with his wife which I had mercifully been forbidden to experience.

If at all possible, the blush suffusing my face grew twice as dark, before it spilled hotly over my neck and visibly reddened tips of my ears—this was just too much.

"Also… there are… spells for these sorts of things, Isabella," he added casually as an afterthought, with an errant toss of his hand, as if to suggest that it was a rather irrelevant detail.

_Spell? _There was that word again.

"You still haven't explained what that's about. What spells?" I asked anxiously, absolutely dying to know what Aro was going on about. Clearly, he believed Edward to be under some sort of enchantment—"the spell must have disturbed your mind further than I thought," he had said. And now he was claiming that vampires could be bewitched by some unknown method and unidentified source so that they would not conceive, but I still had no idea who was casting these "spells", how that even worked, and what that really meant.

And I absolutely hated being in the dark—no matter how horrific the truth was, I was determined to face all of it.

"Patience, Isabella, I have a few more memories to show you, after Carlisle leaves Volterra, which should explain everything quite nicely," he soothed in a velvety lullaby of a voice, bringing his hands together and motioning downward as if to demonstrate the need for me to quell my insatiable drive to know for a while longer. "Are you willing to see them?" he asked delightedly, evidently more of a demand than a suggestion, but I had become accustomed to his manipulation enough to no longer be bothered by it.

I was, however, very worried for my safety, as his thirst was starting to grow rather severe.

"More memories? But… but… you're—" For some reason I couldn't say it. _Starving. Famished. Hungry for human blood. In dire need of a good meal, or else I might become the meal. _

Aro frowned slightly and pondered my terrified observation for a moment. From his deeply chagrined expression, it seemed that he was also well aware of this fact, and how it was effecting himself and the others who had, in their staunch loyalty to him, decided to wait to dine until he brought the remainder of the tourists into this room.

"Anyone else who is unable to abide their thirst a while longer may leave, so long as they corner their meals discreetly and leave enough for the rest of us," Aro announced suddenly in a rich, magnificent voice, sweeping his arms dramatically towards his sides again, as before, to indicate that this option was open to all, without fear of judgment or retribution. I again cringed at the thought of the innocent men and women, who had all looked so innocently happy, so very blissfully unaware of the terrible fate which awaited them, but not a single vampire moved. Instead, like Alice, they had decided to hold their breaths and wait it out—a decision which made Aro's delicate eyebrows quirk in amazed disbelief.

"Very well. But if any of you attempt to harm Isabella now, or ever, know that I will consider it a crime of the highest order, and there will be no mercy on my part," he chewed out viciously, his dark eyes brimming with a caustic threatening emotion, and every powerful sinew and tendon in his body coiling and rippling into rigid, furious lines. At once all the vampires hanging around the perimeter of the room glided backwards infinitesimally, the hushed murmur of frenzied whispered between them abruptly vanishing into deafening silence. They seemed to understand that Aro was essentially saying _act now or forever hold your peace, _and that there would be deadly consequences if they defied his wishes.

I gulped at the savage dominance display I had just witnessed.

Aro, sensing that the tenacious remainder of vampires in the room understood with perfect clarity, swiftly composed himself, straightening into a polite, authoritative stance befitting of a perfect gentleman, and ushered his daughters to reconfigure the memory-sharing formation they had assumed previously. The adorable little girls nodded eagerly and flitted into position without so much as a word, quickly seizing each other's hands in the center, and gazing admiringly up at the elegant, robed figure of their literal father, impatiently awaiting his command. Titania gradually reached out a tiny porcelain hand to grasp Aro's and as she did she beamed brightly, her immaculately straight teeth gleaming ecstatically, causing Aro's lips curled involuntarily into a wide, closed-lipped smile at the breath-taking sight, before he rapidly switched his gaze upwards, upon me, to ascertain if I was ready for this.

I shot him a panicked look which I hoped effectively conveyed that I needed to control my newfound abilities first, and he gave a minute nod of understanding. Exerting my strongest willpower against the stubborn, scarlet force of my mental barrier, I slowly pushed the intangible veil away from my mind, watching it ripple and billow in my mind's eye like a liquefied cape, and felt the terror of exposure wash over me as it slipped carefully away from my presence. Gritting my teeth and trying to focus on keeping my breathing even and relaxed, I shoved the shield harshly into the corner of the room, where it floated lazily, impotently; blocking nothing from no one.

When this was accomplished, I nodded heartily to express that I was ready, and almost immediately I felt the familiar tingle of five, chubby, icy fingers pressing against my outstretched palm, before I was sucked into oblivion.


	15. Chapter 14: Companionship and Tolerance

**AN: Did some pretty intense research on this one (physiological and psychiatric) so I hope I didn't get any details wrong. Social interaction is very important for human mental, emotion and even to some extent _physical _health, and of course this is a need that transfers and intensifies when they become vampires. Relationships (romantic and otherwise) between vampires are intense, and to suddenly be thrust out of a really strong one, into persistent, complete solitude can nearly literally drive them insane after a while. You'll understand what I mean when you read the chapter.**

**Also, some of you were wondering why would any vampires want to create immortal children when they could have their own? I may or may not mention it later, but it isn't really a plot point, so I've decided to share my thoughts on my profile page (they got too long to post here). **

**Anyway, sorry for the yammering. Now we'll return to our somewhat irrregularly scheduled program. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: Companionship and Tolerance<strong>

As my senses vaguely came into focus, I realized that whoever's memories I was now experiencing was running a very high fever, with thick droplets of sweat running all over my body and sticking to the dirty sheets I lied upon, terribly fatigued, and barely able to open my eyes. My breathing came out in short, ragged gasps, and as my heart thudded weakly in my chest I realized two things: First, I was human, rather than a vampire, as I had been expecting, and second I was very, very sick—probably only hours away from death.

Whoever I was seemed to have relentingly accepted that this was their fate, especially since I could see in their, or rather "my", mind that all of my relatives, all once glowing with happiness and health, had been claimed in the wake of the unpredictable, unstoppable Spanish Influenza. My mother was one of the strongest of us, having stuck it out so long, but I had overheard the tense whispers, when the gentle-hearted nurses thought that I was asleep. And even when the nurses didn't talk, for some reason I had always found people incredibly easy to read—almost as though their innermost thoughts were an open book—betraying their petrifying fear, their endless sorrow, and profound sense of loss as each new infection claimed yet another weary soul and stole them irretrievably away. All of which plainly revealed the grim truth that my mother was slipping, and would probably be dead a few hours before myself.

Of course, at the present moment my vision was densely fogged over with the muggy haze of illness, and my eyelids felt like mountainous boulders for all the effort it took to lift them, so I wasn't making many deductions about what people were thinking right now. No… mostly I was just waiting impatiently for the pain to cease—waiting impatiently to die. I had been coughing and vomiting violently for days, every inch of my skin swollen and burning, my lungs were heavy with fluid, and occasionally experienced hemorrhages, bleeding from my nose and ears. It was pure hell and I wanted it to stop. I wasn't sure what lied in wait for me on the other side, but at this point I figured I would face anything rather than endure any more of this pain—certainly I had been a pretty decent man and had nothing heinous to answer for, so I figured my odds of landing a comfortable place in heaven were fairly high.

And even if God was the terrifying, vindictive, sort who gleefully set "hellfire and damnation" upon all but the zealously devout, could it really get worse than this?

I highly doubted it.

But just as I was about to succumb to my fate, my crusty-blood coated ears picked up the sound of the creaky door to my private room opening, and I heard graceful footsteps padding lightly on the cool linoleum floors, growing louder as they drew near to where I lay, impatiently begging God to simply let me die and be free from this vicious torture. In a hushed murmur, I heard a calm, masculine voice dismiss the nurses waiting anxiously at my bedside, assuring them that he would stay with me in my last moments and they did not need to pressure themselves to watch. Their high, emotional voices protested for a moment, before I heard them relent and slip quietly out of the room, and shut the heavy door behind them, leaving me alone with this compassionate, soft-spoken man, who drew even closer before the striking of his feet against the hard floor abruptly ceased.

Wearily, I hefted open my impossibly tired eyes and a tall, platinum blonde figure, with a bright doctor's coat and a face mask hanging uselessly around his neck stood over me, apparently lost deep in thought from his knitted brow and clasped hands underneath his pale chin. As he gazed thoughtfully on my pathetically prone figure, I was confused for a moment until I recognized him—he was Carlisle Cullen, or the "angel doctor" as some had called him. He had earned the divine epithet both for his dashing good looks and unprecedented medical expertise: the man who had managed to save many whom the other, older professionals were utterly convinced were lost causes. Of course, for all his great knowledge, there was only so much he could do in light of this ravaging pandemic—for there was not a medicine strong enough to fight it, as of yet, and it seemed entirely up to luck whether one recovered and lived, or their condition worsened and they died. So many strong, healthy men and women had died already, and yet many weak children and feeble old people had miraculously emerged relatively unscathed—a fact which horrified and baffled most doctors.

Why the "angel doctor" had come to visit me in my last moments I had no idea—usually he preferred to linger around those he could save for as long as possible, until the other doctors all-but-forced him to go home and rest, although I had noticed that curiously, he never seemed to grow tired. I was already doomed—and I could see the understanding of that fact plainly reflected in his captivating golden eyes. Why would he waste the precious time he could be using to save others to be with me? Was this my mother's dying wish? I had heard that he had visited her earlier today, but had not received news of her condition—but from what I had gathered in the discreet glances and hurried whispers, it was very possible that she had been on the brink of death and greeted it not too long ago.

I wasn't given much time to ponder however, as the angular, chiseled face which made all the nurses swoon, switched rapidly back and forth, as if to make sure no one was watching, before his strong arms slipped effortlessly beneath my limp, nearly lifeless body, and he lifted me unceremoniously off the hospital bed which had become my home for the last several weeks. I was about to ask what he was doing, when he suddenly darted over the window behind my bed, bent to lift the latch with his teeth—as his hands were currently occupied holding me—and he swiftly nudged the dim panes open with his shoulders pressing upwards against the dusty glass. A warm breeze of nighttime summer air rushed in to blow across my feverish face, and inexplicably, the intelligent man carrying me gently in his arms, stepped up onto the windowsill, peering thoughtfully into the grass and bushes several stories below.

_What on earth is he thinking? _I thought blearily as the man carefully surveyed the grassy terrain below us. _He can't possibly be contemplating jumping—we're much too high for that._

But jumping is exactly what he did—with a small crouch, the man leapt gracefully from my hospital room window, hugging me tightly to his broad chest as the stuffy summer air whipped around us, before he landed effortlessly on both feet, without so much as a wince from the heavy impact, and took off running in some unknowable direction. As he cushioned my sickly body from the jostling of his inhuman speed, I, Bella, suddenly realized what was going on—this was the story of Edward's transformation: Carlisle was taking him, or rather me, back to his house in order to change me away from prying eyes and listening ears. As Edward of course, I was simply baffled because I was not yet aware that Carlisle was anything other than human, and therefore my blurry thoughts were more along the lines of: _what sort of man can just jump out of a window like that? And he's definitely running faster than any normal person can… is he really an angel? And if so, has he come to send me quickly into death, or to save me?_

As Edward, there really was no way to be sure at this point—we could either be racing towards a miraculous revival or a hasty termination, and in this moment, I was not entirely sure which was the more alarming prospect. I had absolutely nothing left to live for and I really would prefer this horrible agony simply to end, but at the same time the idea that perhaps I could walk away from this alive was alluring in it's own right, and appealed to my suppressed survival instincts. In the end, however, I think my desire to be done with the pain won out, and I silently begged God to let me perish from this world.

Of course, soon I was going to learn that fate had other plans.

When we finally reached the house, Dr. Cullen set me down carefully on his immaculate couch, which I was almost certain I was soiling somehow in my sickly state, covered in sweat and dried blood and weeks' old clothing, before he rushed to work again in his inhumanly fast pace, gathering a large woolen blanket which was almost a tarp for its size, and spreading it over the carpeted floor. As I wheezed and struggled not to vomit all over his lush upholstery, he quickly removed his white doctor's coat before tossing it halfway across the house, where it landed neatly over a brass hook, and rolled up his shirt sleeves so rapidly that the buttons on the cuffs popped off and were lost in the lush fibers of the carpet. Clearly he had something in mind that was going to be rather messy and I had a sneaking suspicion that it was something which involved me.

I wasn't sure whether I should be terrified or elated that this doctor was preparing for some elaborate ritual—so I settled on impassive.

I had absolutely nothing left to lose—he could probably butcher me for all I cared, I just wanted to die.

As I had begun to suspect, in my foggy state of mind, as soon as he began making his preparations, the doctor scooped me up into his arms once again and settled me with impossible tenderness against the scratchy surface of the woolen blanket he'd laid out earlier. What I did not expect however, was for him to slowly move across the surface I lied on himself to straddle my aching body on the floor, kneeling with my immobile legs trapped between his, and bend over me gradually with his cool breath spilling ticklishly across my neck. I twitched in discomfort as the heavy weight of his tall, male form settled against my piping hot, clammy skin, and his strong hands nervously grasped the frayed edge of my striped, stained collar. His piercingly icy fingers brushed my neck delicately before they slid downwards and began to meticulously unbutton the flimsy, stained cotton shirt I wore, and I stiffened (as much as I could in my swollen, achy state) in terror, our compromising positions and his inexplicable desire to undress me only conjuring one horrific possibility in my mind.

Was the "angel doctor" really so sick and twisted that he would do something like this, to a youth such as myself who was on the verge of death?

But all my fears of behind handled inappropriately by this generous man completely vanished as he stopped after undoing my third button, peeled the sweat-soaked fabric gently away from my neck, and I peered into his solemn, shining eyes. His gaze was filled with profound sadness, not perverted lust or sadistic glee, as if he pitied my agonizing plight and was going to do his best to alleviate it—although the path to freedom from my pain would not be an easy one. The notion of having to endure something horribly unpleasant to gain another chance at life was utterly distasteful to me at this moment—I had nothing and no one to live for—but it seemed that this doctor was determined. Although there was a hint of guilty indecision flickering in his bizarre, honey-colored irises, as though he was fairly sure this was a very, _very _bad idea, and a great portion of him was unwilling to go through with it, in the end I could tell his extreme trepidation was won over by something else that was fiercely strong and unwavering—was it… _loneliness?_

While the man's head dipped slowly, drawing his angelic face closer to my perspiration-soaked neck, I wondered for a moment, what sort of unorthodox cure he believed he was using, and whether it would be worth it to endure the evident discomfort I was bound to face as a result, in order to escape from this plagued existence alive. Perhaps, I could find a new reason for living—make new friends, develop new passions and aspirations, go on toward greatness… Perhaps all was not lost, after all.

For a split second, as I gazed up into his beautiful, sorrowful features as he held me softly pinned me to the floor, I allowed myself to hope.

And then he lunged, sinking his teeth violently into the soft flesh of my neck.

…

"Loneliness? _Loneliness?_" I repeated, unable to believe what I had just discovered through the strange new power I had recently acquired upon waking a few hours ago from the horrible three-day nightmare of full-body, hot fiery pain. "_That's_ why you made me into this… this…" I gestured wildly with both hands towards my entire being, unwilling to use the devilish term Carlisle was thinking in his mind. "…_thing?"_

Carlisle looked down at me where I lied on the woolen blanket sadly with desperately shining eyes—_Oh no, not this again._

_Edward… I am terribly sorry. I have been without anyone for so long…_ he thought, turning his nigh-teary eyes away from mine shamefully and gazing forlornly out the living room window of his modest home, a few thin shafts of sunlight slipping between the pale curtains and throwing distracting beams of rainbow light in every direction._ Vampires need companionship as much as humans do… _his thoughts sought to justify himself, arresting my vision with a few flickers of himself and several vampires I did not recognize, all dressed in 18th century fashion and prowling about in underground castle halls, as he spoke. _And for two hundred years I was unable to find any who would amicably keep me company…_

"And you thought I would be your friend because you _gave me no other choice?_" I barked furiously as I quickly sat up, enraged that this man would assume that simply because I had been on the brink of death and in some horribly twisted way he had "saved" me, that I would automatically warm up to him and gushily spill all my secrets. That was not how friendship worked.

I was particularly irate however, not because my humanity had been violently stripped from me to force me into the position of a trusted confidant, but because I saw in his mind what he had been looking for. If Carlisle had merely desired a friend, and was not too picky about the details, perhaps I could accept the cruel fate I had been dealt with greater ease, but simply having someone to talk to was apparently not enough. Carlisle wanted the perfect replacement for the flawlessly pale, black-haired, and red-eyed man which repeatedly occupied his thoughts—someone witty, intelligent, perceptive, well-read, and willing to devote lots of time to in-depth discussions; someone with a unique perspective and a quirky grin when something was particularly fascinating; someone who was musically talented, as the ancient red-eyed one had been, and preferably someone who was not entrenched in his same unyielding moral perspectives, but one who at the same time would reverently respect his decision to peruse an unnatural diet.

In other words, he wanted a carbon-copy of the man himself.

Of course, since the ancient scarlet-eyed man swirling obsessively through Carlisle's thoughts was currently thousands of miles away, and had expressly forbidden Carlisle to ever even step foot within the same city for some unknown, but apparently rather heinous past offense—having him as a companion was not an option. But in absence of an adequate alternative, I supposed that Carlisle had decided to "make do" with me, despite the glaring differences between myself and his former friend.

I supposed that the man in Carlisle's thoughts and I were not totally dissimilar—curiously, we were both telepaths, and I was quite talented for my age at playing the piano—but when it came to the mental capacity that Carlisle sought, I was severely lacking. It was not that I was a blubbering idiot, by any stretch of the term, at least I thought myself rather observant and quick to pick up on things, and I had received a fairly good education (as much as any seventeen year old boy could dream of during this time period). But the knowledge I had gained so far, during my short mortal existence was wholly inadequate to keep up at the philosophical level that the centuries-old creature before me operated on. The deep questions Carlisle had unwittingly bombarded me with (as they were swirling frenziedly in his mind) from the first moment of my coherency were _way_ over my head.

And it would be a long time before I was even willing to consider having those sorts of discussions with him anyway—we were _not _friends, that was for sure. The man had _bitten _me three days ago, and I had been twitching and howling in unsurpassed agony until only a few hours ago, and while it was true that it appeared that in the process of whatever diabolical metamorphosis had just occurred, my life-threatening illness had been cured, that fact alone was hardly enough to foster a healthy, trusting relationship with this man. Surely I could see in this thoughts that he was positively miserable… that being alone for two hundred years, utterly without anyone to confide in, or even really speak to regularly outside of a few clipped conversations at work, had wrought rather adverse effects on his mental state, and he was desperate to prevent himself from slipping into insanity, but I found it hard to pity him.

At least, not while my throat was on fire.

The sorrowful blond vampire standing over me blinked a few times in confusion, momentarily forgetting that I could hear everything he was thinking without ever having to touch him, since he was greatly accustomed to telepathy being a tactile power, rather than a proximal one, and I had only discovered my powers a few hours before. "…You are right," he sighed, his voice heavy with the burden of self-loathing. "I deeply apologize. Please forgive me," he begged, before turning his head away from me guiltily, gazing up at the sterile white ceiling of his humble abode in order to avoid the sting of my steely gaze. _I should not have done this, _he thought morosely._ Those centuries of loneliness were unbearable but this… this is worse… What have I done? Did I not swear that I would never inflict the pain of thirst on another? Am I really so weak to let my solitude override my compassion? God, how could I be so selfish?_ he implored the heavens grievingly, swallowing as his harried mind struggled to reconcile the split-second decision he had rushed into during a particularly strong bout of loneliness, at the vague urging of my deceased mother. _It is true that she told me to do everything within my power to save her son… but that is hardly an excuse. I should have asked for his consent first—what if he wanted to die, and I have now taken that option away from him? _

That last thought stunned me—it was true that I had wanted to die, but as I struggled to keep my hands away from the scorching dryness building in my neck, I was starting to doubt that I still wanted that. Certainly it was terrifying that I had been changed into a creature whose every instinct screamed at me to light off into the distance as fast as possible and sink my teeth into the nearest human being, especially during a time of pandemic, when I was certain that he number of healthy humans to feed on was dwindling. But did I still want my existence to end?

I was not sure.

Killing humans to satisfy my thirst was proving to be a much more tantalizing prospect than I had ever imagined—it surprised me that the more I turned over the idea in my mind, the less horrified I was by it. Although when I had first become aware of my transformation I had been utterly mortified by the concept, now it simply seemed natural—it seemed _right_. Despite the fact that less than seventy-two hours ago I had been a part of the mortal coil, the notion of being a man-eating predator did not disturb me as much as might have expected. The vivid fantasies my mind painted of tearing savagely into the soft, warm throats of the local townspeople and eagerly lapping up every last drop of their delicious blood made venom pool on my tongue and threaten to spill over my lips, but I never grimaced or cringed away from them, because I felt no guilt over them.

There was no conflict in my conscience—although peripherally, I understood that most humans saw killing their fellow mortals to be an atrocious crime, as the minutes of blazing thirst ticked by, my own conscience did not sting in the slightest. I felt about as much moral confliction over the subject as I did towards drinking water—a fact which stumped me and made me a little concerned. Was it a good thing that I did not suffer to reconcile vexing moral issues as Carlisle did? Or was it some indicator that I was, in fact, a soulless monster, and Carlisle was not?

There was really no way to be certain—but ultimately it was irrelevant at the moment.

Right now, my first priority was quelling the sweltering hunger ravaging my throat—completely. And in order to do that, since I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and was almost guaranteed to make a scene if I were left to my own devices, I needed Carlisle to mentor me on how to hunt properly. Of course, since I wanted my thirst satisfied entirely, that meant that drinking animal blood was not an option, (for I had seen the unsatisfaction it caused others in his thoughts) which presented a considerable dilemma: I needed Carlisle's assistance to feed, but I wanted to feed in a manner that was wholly unpalatable to him.

I swallowed nervously. If this was going to work—if I was somehow going to manage to persuade him to help me do the very thing he had sworn never to participate in, I would have to do a bit of sucking-up first.

"I… may not be able to completely forgive you just yet," I iterated cautiously, careful to speak in the gentlest tone I could muster so as to not upset him. "But I will probably get over it eventually, and at least for now, I do not hate you," I added dishonestly, because for at least at the moment, I _did_ hate him, though I was hoping to appease the emotionally volatile creature before me. "I can sympathize with the loneliness you must have felt."

"Truly?" He spoke softly, his tense fingers trembling slightly in his lap and his unnerving yellow eyes positively glowing with wholly undeserved joy and hope.

Biting my venom-soaked tongue to keep an acerbic "no" from slipping out, I gave a curt nod, and Carlisle's pale features exploded into a brilliant rainbow of ecstatic delight.

Before there was anything I could do to stop him, the doctor's thin, sinewy arms wrapped fiercely around my back and heartily shoved my immortal body face-first into his chest, his powerful grip crushing me into an exuberant embrace, hugging me so tightly that I was certain that had I been human, the buttons on his shirt would have left sizable dents in my cheeks. Thankfully, in my newborn state, I was much stronger than the older vampire, so I was able to detangle myself from the awkwardly intimate position rather quickly, but when I finally extricated myself and rapidly seated myself on the opposite couch, so that I was clearly out of arm's reach the man was still beaming at me like an idiot.

"Yes. I am not mad at you," I breathed out, exasperatedly. Another lie. "I have seen how the other… members of our kind treat you," I said with a touch more sympathy now, my first genuine, honest statement, recalling the images I had seen of vampires ganging up on Carlisle and nearly tearing him apart when he told them of his ways, only barely managing to escape by severely disorienting them with his gift. "So I understand why you did it."

Carlisle's rejoicing smile stretched even wider, and my lips threatened to contort into a cavernous frown—he was not going to like what I was going to say next.

"But I will not be drinking animal blood." I was adamant on that front at least.

Carlisle simply looked dumfounded by my declaration, staring at me incredulously, unable to believe that those words had come out of my mouth, and his mind utterly unable to imagine the reason why I would say such things, so I hurried on in my explanation before he could protest. "I will stay with you, if you still want someone to talk to," I offered as a compromise to the poor, miserable man. "But see no reason to fight my natural instincts."

Carlisle's face fell, and I swore I could hear his unbeating heart produce a small "thud" as it dropped in his ribcage from utter shock.

"But…" _Edward, how can you even bear to think of doing such things? You were a human yourself only a few days ago? How can you be so callous toward human slaughter when you have not had very long to distance yourselves from them? How can you think it acceptable to eat… to kill what you used to be?_

He truly could not comprehend it—evidently he himself still had not gotten over his humanity, despite having lived much longer as an immortal hematophage than an omnivorous mortal. Although he could not afford to grow too close to any of them because of the high risk of exposure, humans were most stalwartly categorized in his mind as "friends", not food.

"Because I have seen you think about it—about those test subjects back in Italy," I confessed, shocking the man who had inducted me into this undead existence with the knowledge that I had seen such things in his hastily flickering thoughts. "What they went through…" I continued with a dark, accusatory gaze, brimming with sympathetic rage at the horrors I had seen them endure at his hands. "That is what I will face if I choose to eat like you, isn't it?"

I did not even need my abilities to confirm it—his facial expression said all I needed to know.

Carlisle pursed his lips and pointedly looked the other way. "…Unless you are another anomaly, like myself and Heinrich…" he offered feebly, as an option of impossible odds.

"Yes, but you know that is not likely," I bit out caustically, clenching my newly reinforced teeth, which I was certain were brightly glistening with fresh venom as my newborn thirst meant that my mouth was nearly constantly dripping with the thick, sticky fluid.

"Yes, I do," he conceded sadly, before his thoughts overtook his verbal admissions. _This really was a terrible idea. It seems I have created a vastly different sort of companion than what I had originally in mind—this one will probably guilt-trip me for eternity. Which I probably deserve. I have tried to make penance for my previous wrongs…_ he thought, and briefly I saw a flash of Carlisle's old friend's face and those of his test subjects, all golden-eyed like Carlisle, but howling in agonized fear and pain and scratching savagely at thick iron doors…_ but now I have sinned again—bringing this curse upon another because I could no longer bear to be alone. I cannot take back what I have done, and I have not yet created a viable substitute for human blood, but can I really force him to endure the pain that the others went through? _

"Carlisle, I understand why you did it, and I understand how you feel about drinking human blood," I said firmly, trying to be as polite and understanding as possible while still heartily protesting his crushing shame, and trying to dredge him out of his loneliness-induced depression. Apparently, being alone for two centuries was not particularly stellar for one's mental health, for Carlisle had spent almost all of these past three days either moping around listlessly with a trudging sadness that was suffocating, or manically firing off unfollowable rounds of complicated questions in his head, with a gleeful craziness that was annoying and disturbing. "But should I not be free to make my own decisions?"

Carlisle ran his fingers nervously through his tousled, silvery-blonde locks, and set his pallid lips into a hard line of displeasure, but eventually offered a shallow bob of his head to indicate that he understood. _This isn't perhaps the most ideal arrangement, but I have learned from the past that it will only infuriate him if I attempt to coerce him into following my methods. No, it would be much better for him to make his own decision, unimpeded by my manipulations. _

"Of course. You may feed as you wish," he said with surprising calm. _As long as my identity does not fall under scrutiny as a result and I am free to make my own choices as well. _"But I must make the stipulations that no humans are to be killed in this town, and you must not criticize me for my dietary choices."

_I had expected as much. _"I can agree to that," I responded amicably—I was willing to accept any terms at this point, for the thirst was beginning to grow rather severe, and I had to clench my teeth to stifle a animalistic hiss of displeasure as the fire burned hotter. "There is one issue, however…"

"And what is that?" _He already agreed to leave my choices alone… and I agreed to respect his… what is left? Does he want to leave me and go on his own, to seek others who will feed like him? No he promised to stay as well…_

I decided to interrupt his thoughts. "I do not know how to hunt," I admitted nervously, dragging my diamond hard fingers across the outside of my blazing throat. "And… I am getting rather thirsty…"

A look of sheer, unbridled horror washed over Carlisle's face—_I am going to have to supervise him while he slaughters innocent people? I suppose I really do not have any other choice. As his creator, I am responsible for his well-being and most especially for his understanding of the need to protect the secret of our existence. I should have thought of this when I made him… _

For a moment, I worried that Carlisle was going to insist that I choose his diet instead, at least until I was in control enough to hunt on my own, but after a few more seconds of similar, regretful thoughts, the tenor of his inner sentiments suddenly shifted. _Surely, it may not be pleasant to observe, but can I not at least be accommodating to his desires… the way that Aro was with mine? I tolerated the deaths he wrought back then—can I not tolerate them now? I, myself, have sworn never to kill, but this one is convicted otherwise, and I would very much like to have him as my confidant even if he decides to live a different lifestyle than mine. Eventually I will share my fears with him, but I will not impede on his free will, especially when it is to choose the, regrettably more physiologically logical option. _

I was totally stunned by what I was hearing—Carlisle, though firmly personally opposed what he saw as human murder, was slowly stepping towards assisting me in obtaining my first, much-delayed, meal of human blood. He was going to help me kill someone, because health-wise, for me, it made the most sense.

It was baffling, and it made me realize just how desperate for companionship he really was.

"Very well, let us find you someone to eat."

…

"You made another vampire?" I observed irately, pointing an accusatory finger at the lovely, subtly curvy woman carried in Carlisle's arms over the threshold of the ramshackle house he and I had shared for the past couple of years, whose skin was just as blindingly white as his and my own, whose eyes were a brilliant crimson, and whose lips were ever so slightly stained with the evidence of recent feeding. "Am I not good enough for you?" I bellowed angrily, furious that so quickly after I had assumed my position as Carlisle's companion, he had created another to replace me.

"No Edward, this is not about you being an inadequate companion," Carlisle assured me in soothing tones as he lightly skimmed his fingers over the woman's soft caramel-brown tresses and she gazed up at him adoringly with her bright red eyes. "In these few short years, I have been much better, thanks to you," he said genuinely, with a soft, compassionate smile as he carried the woman gently into the living room and settled her slowly, reverently against the plush fabric of his sofa. _You have been an excellent help, Edward, I am very much indebted to you for helping to restore my mental well-being. _ "But surely you know that a man cannot have only male companions for his entire life… Esme and I… well…" _I love her, Edward. She is the female counterpart I have sought for my entire life. I intend to marry her and become her husband in every sense of the word._

They looked into each other's eyes lovingly, and I wished I could be sick.

Especially as Carlisle's eyes briefly slid lower, hovering admiringly over her soft, round physique and his thoughts flooded with desire—a respectful desire (for he most definitely viewed this woman as a stunning, valuable individual, and not merely an object to gratify his lusts)—but a sexual desire nonetheless, which perturbed me to be privy to, since it seemed so vastly private; sacred, even, and I felt horribly dirty for having unwittingly trespassed on it.

At least until I suddenly recognized her, having seen her from time to time when I grudgingly visited Carlisle at work, as Esme Evenson, the wife of Charles Evenseon—or at least she had been his wife until she was declared deceased along with her newborn child in the paper this morning. Her human identity startled me because it was entirely unlike Carlisle to romantically pursue a married woman, but the intention to make this newly transformed woman his wife was firm and crystal clear in his mind, strong enough to the point that I highly doubted that they had not been at least somewhat involved with each other in a less-than-strictly-friendly fashion before her supposed "death".

"Carlisle and I never did anything serious while I was still married to Charles," the woman suddenly said, seeing the disgusted confusion written clearly on my face. "But he has noticed that my husband was... not very gentle with me and comforted me when I came to the hospital with severe injuries. After some time, our conversations grew more intimate, and when my baby died… I realized that I wanted out, and I wanted to be with Carlisle—but marriage is until death do us part…"

"So you faked her death, and transformed her so that you two could… court each other?" I asked Carlisle and his thoughts immediately confirmed my morbid hypothesis. "Something to that effect," he clarified verbally.

"That's a bit… underhanded, if you ask me. But I see that you genuinely love her and she loves you back so I won't stand in the way," I said while anxiously wringing my hands and taking a few steps backward from the unnervingly amorous couple to give them some space and to visually indicate that if they wanted me to leave the house permanently in order to give them the privacy they most definitely desired, that I would do so, albeit grudgingly.

Carlisle's congenial expression twisted into a small frown as he noticed my trepidation. "Edward, you are still welcome to live with us. Our relationship does not need to be fractured by what Esme and I have." _I am sure she would be delighted to have you stay, Edward. _

Upon hearing those words in his thoughts, I was elated—Carlisle wasn't going to get rid of me after all. At least not right away. "I will stay, if you still want me here, that is," I found it hard to believe that the soon-to-be-newlyweds would want much to do with me for the next couple of months, but although I had originally been stubbornly cold and unwilling to open up to the man who had bestowed immortality upon me without my consent, over the years, I had began to warm up to his companionship and a true relationship, almost mentor-student like, or even father-son like, developed between us, and I had absolutely no desire to suddenly leave that behind. "But I do have one question."

"What is it?" _Is he concerned that Esme and I will neglect him? Because I think rather the opposite will happen—as much as I have begun to see him as my son, she will probably eventually feel the same and seek to spoil him rotten with her maternal coddling. _

I ignored Carlisle's thoughts and pressed on. "What is she going to eat?" I asked, worried for the battered woman's health.

Carlisle looked nervously over at Esme, who ashamedly flickered her eyes shut, and then he looked back at me, and suddenly I knew the answer before he even spoke it. "Esme has decided to drink human blood as well."

I was stunned—the crazy, gold-eyed vampire's bride-to-be was going to drink human blood?

_I know that it is not ideal, Edward. I would prefer us to be on the same page on this matter, but I love her, and this is her decision. I will not begrudge her the right to eat as she wishes. It… distresses me that she wishes to kill… but we discussed this at length before I ever transformed her. She has promised that if I ever am successful in discovering a viable alternative, she will be the first to switch over. _

I nodded. "It looks like Carlisle already assisted you today," I noted, pointing to the reddish stain unevenly painting her lips, and Esme quickly flung an ashamed hand across her mouth to cover the evidence of her recent feeding. I struggled not to roll my eyes—there was no need to hide such things around me, for I was undisturbed by the evidence of mortal demise. Carlisle on the other hand... "But in the future, he will probably not be accompanying us. I am tame enough now to feed on my own, so I can take over from here."

"Thank you, Edward." _I may be willing to tolerate your choices, but it is hard on me to watch those I love consume my mortal friends. If you would help Esme, I would greatly appreciate it. _

I nodded discreetly, to let Carlisle know that I had heard his thoughts without alerting Esme to the silent exchange.

"Are you certain you will not be joining us next month…?" Esme said sadly, looking pleadingly into Carlisle's eyes. _I know how he feels, and I agreed to support him, despite knowing what he is suffering, but I had hoped, when he said that Edward could help me select criminals, rather than innocents to feed from, that Carlisle might be persuaded to adopt our healthier way of living because no guiltless humans would be harmed. I do not like that he seems to disapprove of Edward's methods as well... because that might mean he disapproves of me. _

"Yes, I am certain. You may feed as you wish, but I… I cannot." he assured, his eyes were burning with sorrow. "I am a vegetarian," he added with a wry smile. Esme looked confused at his bizarre usage of the term, but I understood what he meant completely. He had explained to me his philosophy, how he felt that although it was not morally wrong for vampires to kill and drink the blood of humans, because it was simply a part of our nature, he himself could not bring himself to do so, just as human vegetarians could not bring themselves to harm animals, despite the fact that they were naturally omnivorous.

Carlisle bent down and placed a chaste kiss on Esme's cheek. "I love you, Esme. Please, realize that my personal disgust with drinking the blood of humans has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I will always love you. Always," he promised sincerely, with his golden eyes glowing with adoration and love, and her crimson irises reflecting back the same nauseating combination of emotions.

Again, I wanted to be sick—both of their thoughts were starting to take decidedly uncomfortable turns, but more than that, I wanted Carlisle to make good on his word. If he abandoned Esme in the future because of a differing opinion in diet, I would be sure to make him regret since their wedding was going to be very soon, and I understood from the thoughts of others we had encountered in the last few years of my immortality how deeply attached vampires could get to one another after they had sex.

Ugh… I would definitely have to leave the house when they decided to head to the bedroom… Presently, Carlisle and I were both virgins, but I knew that soon enough—probably very shortly after the amorous couple managed to escape the ceremony—that would no longer be the case. And I had no desire to hear his thoughts and see flashes of what was happening between them when that occurred.

Hopefully, they would have the decency to have a proper honeymoon, away from the house, at least.

…

It was one night ten years later after surreptitiously subduing and consuming a small gang of criminals, while we were cleaning up the incriminating remains in an abandoned, dank alley that Esme finally voiced the great dilemma that had been burning in her mind for the last several years after her marriage to Carlisle. "Oh Edward, I know that he says that he does not mind us choosing to consume humans, but I cannot help but think that sometimes Carlisle looks at me as a monster, and not as his wife," she explained in desperate sorrow. "Please tell me… is that true?" _Do Carlisle's convictions make him believe me to be some kind of horrible evil?_

"No, of course not. He really does love you, Esme," I said truthfully, unnerved by the unnecessary pain she felt by her perception of being judged by her gentle, surprisingly tolerant (thus far, at least) husband, as I callously tossed the last of the five bodies into the ghastly pile we'd created, doused their bodies in flammable liquids, flicked open a lighter and tossed it mechanically in the direction of the evidence I wished to destroy.

"I know, he does not fail to demonstrate it," Esme reminded me, refusing to watch as the blinding yellow-orange flames licked eagerly at the bodies we had recently drained, and self-consciously rubbing against her bloodstained lips with the back of her hand. "But although I share his compassion towards the families of those he saves and toward the innocent, I feel that the fact that I see nothing wrong with us hunting criminals together puts a wedge between him and I," she expressed with distressed features glowing eerily orange in the light of the ravaging funeral pyre I had just built, and a haunting, desperate edge to her voice that suggested that she would be utterly lost if Carlisle decided he could no longer tolerate her decision to feed differently than him. "What am I to do, Edward? I do not want there to be a wedge between us."

I sighed and folded my arms as I waited impatiently for the bodies blazing beside me to reduce to ashes. "Esme, I am a seventeen-year-old, not a marriage therapist. I cannot say what you should do, but I can definitely give some advice on what not to do."

Esme's scarlet eyes flickered with apprehension, and the worry that she might have already done what I was going to warn against arose powerfully in her mind. "And what might that be?"

"Do not try to convince him to switch to our methods of sustaining ourselves—he is rather stubborn on that front," I cautioned. "A good friend of his back in Italy tried for decades to change his mind. That's how he knows about all the negative effects of his diet. But he persists, even still."

"His determination to protect humans, even the guilty, is that strong," she mused aloud, astonished by Carlisle's steadfastness in his self-deleterious ways.

"Yeah… I guess you could say it is admirable… but entirely misguided…" I added in a derisive mumble, before I was suddenly interrupted by the ominous sound of footsteps slowly making their way down the adjacent street in our direction, and my mind was flooded with their thoughts of approach, seeking Esme and I out specifically—since flashes of our faces continually appeared in this mystery person's mind. Preparing to fight if necessary, I coiled my body into a tense crouch, gritted my blunt teeth fiercely and flexed my murderous hands, ready to violently rip off our pursuer's head with my bare hands if necessary.

"Who's there?" I barked out, hoping to scare off any approaching humans so that we were not forced to slaughter any hapless souls who happened upon the gruesome evidence of our hunger-motivated crime fighting. Esme despised causing the deaths of innocents—a trait she shared with her husband.

_Relax Edward, it is just me, Carlisle. _

I visibly relaxed as I began to recognize the characteristic ebb and flow of his thoughts and he suddenly strode into view, dressed simply in a powder blue button-up shirt and black slacks, and his golden eyes morosely surveyed the nearly destroyed scene of human slaughter, and the two pairs of bright red eyes reflecting back at him."Carlisle? What are you doing here?" I hissed disapprovingly, knowing that his personal discomfort with human deaths being so clearly written all over his face was bound to impress Esme's paranoid feelings even deeper into her aching heart, and wishing that he would have simply waited for us to come home to share whatever crucial news was intentionally being hidden within his mind from my view.

"Esme, Edward I found a way so that you do not have to kill anymore," he announced suddenly, and for the first time since I had obtained my telepathic gift I was well and truly shocked. _That is what he has come here to tell us? That he is going to rescind all his previous statements about us being able to follow after our own ways, and force us to convert to his unhealthy lifestyle?_

"I thought you said I could do what I wanted," I spat bitterly.

Carlisle's hands both shot up defensively. "You can… of course you can, I just thought you might want to know. I have found another group of vampires like myself, who have found an effective way to curb their hunger so that it does not overwhelm them."

"Curb their hunger?" I pressed, but Carlisle was determined to keep me in the dark on this one, focusing his surface thoughts on the details of the scenery instead—the individual droplets of water evaporating against the broken window panes beside me as the bonfire flames leapt higher, the infinitesimal spot of blood which had managed to slip from the corner of Esme's mouth and create a small brownish-red polka-dot against the sunny yellow color of her sundress, the uneven paving of the alleyway bricks beneath our feet...

"They have found a way to block it out, so that the pain goes away and so they are not compelled to kill humans, but can instead live solely off the blood of animals, as I do," he explained neutrally, still infuriatingly focusing his thoughts on completely different matters, so that there were no additional insights as to how this method he mentioned worked, other than the words which he had just spoken.

I didn't get it. It didn't sound right, but Esme looked excited. The prospect that she might be able to sustainably feed as Carlisle did, combined with her burning desire to please him of course made her escatic. I was still very suspicious though.

"I want to meet them right away," Esme practically sang, darting with inhuman speed over to Carlisle's side and rubbing a hand lovingly over his left shoulder to indicate her spousal support.

"Of course," Carlisle acknowledged with an adoring smile, capturing her beautiful feminine hands in his own and lifting them for a gentle kiss, before unexpectedly turning his attention to me. "Edward, you can stay here, if you wish, but I would highly appreciate it if you would at least come take a look."

"I will admit I am curious. You want me to be surprised—you are keeping your thoughts focused on other things," I observed flatly, my curiosity overruled for the most part by irritation that Carlisle was trying and succeeding at keeping me in the dark.

"I really do think you will like what you see..." he hinted, and I shot one last glance at the smoldering pile of ash left in the alley before I stomped petulantly over toward where Carlisle and Esme stood, with their noses nearly touching, and their hands clinging to each other in a manner that was uncomfortably intimate.

"Very well, I will come check it out."


	16. Chapter 15: Song of the Damned

**AN: Yes, I know that those events are different than the official canon version of what happened, but since we only know of Edward and Esme's early years as vampires from Edward's unreliable narration at the beginning of Twilight, I decided things happened a little differently. Also, a lot of you were wondering why Carlisle has let them live with him and yet still go out and feed on human blood. Two hundred years of solitude can make a man desperate for company, so he is willing to accommodate them to keep them around, first off, secondly, he realizes that his ways are unhealthy and that it is not his right to force his decision on others. Eventually, the Cullens do become the full-vegetarian coven we know from the books, but initially they didn't start that way. **

**This chapter will start to explain how the transition happened, though. **

**It should also go further to explain why Carlisle has been so tolerant, thus far. A lot of you seemed to be under the impression that he coerced his coven into choosing his vegetarian lifestyle. That is not so. ;)**

**Also, there is some theological terminology being tossed around here, so if you have any questions about what the heck they're talking about, shoot me a note. If enough of you are confused, I may put an explanation on my profile page, but otherwise I am going to assume that you guys are following what is going on. Google can be your friend, if you are curious, but my offer is still very much open-I will tell you everything I know.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Song of the Damned<strong>

"Edward this is Tanya, Irina, Kate, Carmen and Eleazar," Carlisle said politely, gesturing to the peaceful congregate of golden-eyed vampires all sitting calmly amid an assortment of expensive living room furniture, with a glossy glass coffee table resting between them, topped with a fragrant bouquet of pastel flowers. "They all drink animal blood," he added informatively with an unrestrained smile, despite the fact that I had already discovered as much from their thoughts, and heard their intolerant disapproving comments in regards to Esme's and my own crimson eyes. Although one shapely, strawberry blonde, Tanya, was rather more interested in the _rest _of my anatomy, it seemed—which sent a disgusted shiver down my spine as the adult woman hungrily appraised my teenaged body with a wicked gleam in her lust-ridden eyes.

"I can see that," I responded flatly as I critically surveyed the placid crowd and noticed a green-eyed, flush-skinned brunette sitting slightly apart from the rest, with a curious assortment of crystal pendants hanging form her neck, numerous large golden earrings, and a litany of strange runes embroidered into the complicated drapery of shawls she wore about her small person. "You manage it with a spell? An enchantment?" I asked, to vocally confirm the solution to their thirst which had been flowing through the five golden-eyed vampires' thoughts.

"Yes… Aria helps us subdue our thirst," the Hispanic, dark-haired vampire I knew to be Carmen agreed with a happy smile, pointing to the strange, non-vampire woman sitting calmly in a lush, beige armchair, turning over a small glass ball in her pinkish hands, as Carmen reached to give the hand of her husband who sat uncomfortably still beside her, a reassuring squeeze. "That way we can stay away from human blood." _That way we can be a compassionate, loving couple who hurts no one. Isn't that amazing, Eleazar? _

Eleazar, on the other hand, I could tell was more troubled by his mate's enthusiasm than he dared to let on. _Carmen, I wish I could tell you how I feel about this… I love you, so I have agreed to endure this pain for a time, but will you never listen to my concerns? I understand and respect that you think it more important to protect the lives of humans than to bring children into this world… but must my feelings be ignored on this matter? I always wanted to have a family with you, Carmen. A real family…_

"Sometimes we still… slip up," Carmen continued, totally oblivious to her husband's despairing thoughts. "...when the thirst grows very strong and overrides the spell," she added with a briefly sad look in her compassionate honey eyes. "But these instances are infrequent, and usually only occur when dealing with _nostri cantanti_, those whose blood appeals to us the most." she dismissed casually, as though these "slip ups" were nothing to be worried about: extremely rare and barely minor inconveniences, and not, perhaps horrifying symptoms of a greater, unsolved issue, as Eleazar's mind seemed to suggest.

_You're mitigating the frequency of your "slip ups", Carmen, _Eleazar thought, sending a bizarrely pointed look in my direction, as though he was somehow aware of my unrevealed abilities and was silently requesting me to listen closely to his inner dialogue. _They happen slightly more often than that, and are a perfectly natural response to your body's starvation. Why can't you see that you're hurting yourself—or rather, how come when you see it, you do not stop?_

"I see…" I said with skeptical displeasure. "And you manage this how?" I asked, in reference to their unnerving calmness, the same sort of control that Carlisle miraculously displayed despite his deprivation, even though I already was vaguely aware of the answer. I hoped that my vocal inquiry would spur the woman who apparently was the caster of the thirst-curbing spells to review the intricacies of the process in her head, so that I could determine exactly what she was doing to this unusual coven of vampires. I was deeply concerned that whatever she was doing to them was highly unnatural, and was about as effective of a remedy for thirst as perfume was a cure for rotting fruit.

The green-eyed "witch", I suppose she could be called, looked up at me for the first time since our arrival, pocketed the small crystal sphere she had been toying with moments earlier and set her hands tranquilly in her lap, each finger gleaming with thick, gaudy gold rings. As her piercing green eyes bore into mine, also seemingly aware of my powers, I watched, mesmerized as the process she used on each of the five flickered through my mind in a series of hasty images. I saw her chanting ancient incantations as she worked, drawing complicated runic symbols in human blood all over their diamond skin, restraining them with powerfully enchanted chains as they screamed, writhed and gnashed their teeth at her trying to lick the blood off their bodies, and finally she ritually cleansed them by rubbing away the blood with various crystals, all in symbolic representation of the rubbing away or suppression of their desire for human blood. It was a horrific process to witness, and I shivered again as I saw each of the four women and Eleazar howling in obvious agony in this woman's mind as she applied her strange magic to their bodies and interfered with their natural hunger response.

"That… That's awful," was all I could manage to say after that traumatic onslaught of images.

Everyone in the room except for Carlisle, Eleazar, Aria and Esme flooded my head with perplexed thoughts, as they were totally oblivious as to what had just occurred between the diminutive witch and myself. Carlisle and Esme looked in my direction with deep concern and worried curiosity, wondering what sort of terrible things I must have seen to contort my face into such a vile expression, and make me speak such things, and Eleazar, knowing full well what must have passed through my head, because of his gift which gave him an awareness of mine, dipped his own in sympathetic sorrow and resignation. What was most upsetting however, was not the severe worry of my covenmates, nor Eleazar's despairing acceptance of the torture he had to face with some regularity in order to stay with his beloved mate, nor the vexing questions in the others' minds that were whirling around in a maddening cesspool of confusion and mistrustful suspicion. No, it was Aria's smug smirk that was by far the most alarming.

That twisted sorceress _enjoyed_ inflicting the pain she did on this unfortunate coven, I perceived with horror, and not simply because it meant that her human friends remained unharmed, (although that was one reason)—but also because she derived some sort of sick, sadistic pleasure from inflicting pain on members of my species. I was terrified to realize as more of her cruel thoughts filed my way that she saw vampires as hellish demons, as her arch nemeses, and only maintained the illusion of friendship with this group in order to suppress the threat they naturally posed to mankind. She herself was not in danger around them, as she possessed some sort of genetic predisposition, a latent ability that had triggered a change in her originally human physiology when she first came in the presence of vampires, which had given her blood a toxic flavor that no vampire would ever dare taste in addition to magical powers and longevity. But she considered herself a protector of humankind, and an enemy to all who sought to consume them—even to this unusually compassionate coven who ultimately desired the same end as she.

She hated all vampires, more passionately than I had known anyone to hate anything, and this suffering group of human-loving immortals, despite their continued selfless sacrifices to fight their predatory natures, were no different from the rest in her mind.

"Edward… what did you see?" Carlisle asked cautiously, before turning quickly to the others and explaining: "Edward has the ability to read the immediate thoughts of all who are in close proximity," eliciting a surprised gasp from most in the room and a few fleeting, dirty looks at Carlisle for not explaining that their thoughts were not private earlier. "I apologize for withholding this information. I assure you that I meant no deceit by it," he said with both hands raised in a gentle "calm down" gesture as Kate suddenly rose from her plush, tawny chair with a savage, livid expression, appearing as though she very much wanted to tear my face off.

Aro's face flickered across her mind—although the image was much older than those in Carlisle's, which I could determine by the costly medieval regalia the ancient vampire was arrayed in instead of the ostentatious Rococo Era breeches and tailcoats I was accustomed to seeing him in—and I could also tell that her opinion of him was much less admiring than that of Carlisle's as well. Her vision grew red and hazy with intemperate rage as she recalled a distant memory of him and several of his guard as they circled vindictively around the woman she and her coven sisters had once regarded as their mother and brutally tore her apart before feeding her flailing body parts to the hungry flames. Apparently, because of my red eyes and my similar abilities to that of Aro, she made an erroneous connection between us, assuming that I was somehow affiliated with him, perhaps even, as illogical as the prospect was, a bastard son of his, (since I bore no resemblance to either Aro or Sulpicia), and was enraged that I had been sent to "spy" on them.

Of course, her estimation of my character could not be further from the truth, but I did not even attempt to correct her as her sisters rushed to restrain her, because as the blonde trio thrashed chaotically around one another and an electric charge suddenly covered Kate's entire body in response, I realized she was far beyond reasoning capability. Her fury with the Volturi for the execution of their previous coven leader some many centuries ago, had blinded her to all rational explanations, and even hardened her against sympathy for her sisters as the two women howled in excruciating pain as they tenaciously restrained her in spite of it. A loud, shrill snarl ripped through Kate's throat as the girls tried to force her back into her seat once more, and her power surged stronger, causing the two terrified vampires to crumple at her feet before she coolly stepped over them and hunched to lunge at me.

It was only when Carlisle dashed between her and me, holding up a single forbidding hand and giving her the iciest glare I had ever seen, that she suddenly stopped in her tracks and seemed to realize that she needed to confirm her hypothesis before she simply tore me apart.

"You bring an associate of those devils with you?" she spat venomously, her bared, clenched teeth gleaming with venom and her wild, wrathful eyes giving their best attempt at drilling thousands of tiny holes into my brain.

Carlisle looked bewildered for a second until he realized to whom she was referring, and the hasty, false conclusion Kate had jumped to as a result. "No, Edward has no affiliation with the Volturi. I was the one to change him and he has been in my company ever since."

"…But his eyes…"

"…Are the same hue as my mate, Esme's," he finished for her in a placating tone, directing a single hand in his wife's direction as he spoke. Esme turned her head ever so slightly away from Carlisle's gaze, as though deeply ashamed by their difference in eye-color, even though Carlisle had never protested her decision to hunt criminals. "And she obviously has no affiliation with them either," he pointed out in an attempt to make peace with the passionately Volturi-opposed coven, before sending a fleeting glance in Eleazar's direction. _I had no idea that your covenmates harbored such a fierce hatred of our friends back in Volterra. _

Although Eleazar could not read minds, he seemed to understand these words behind Carlisle's gaze, and his thoughts responded: _It distresses me too, that their prior negative experiences and their dedication to abstain from ending human life have corrupted their vision of the Volturi so much. Certainly they must realize that their late mother was in the wrong, and the Volturi only did what they must to exercise justice. _

Kate seemed to understand the unspoken implication that Carlisle would fight on my behalf if she made a move against me, and sent one last derisive sneer in my direction before she sauntered back to her chair, and threw herself down in it with a melodramatic "Hmph!" The other sisters at last struggled to their feet and cast wary glances at Carlisle, their thoughts burgeoning with fear at the prospect that Carlisle might use his gift against them. It stunned me that he had informed them of his power, and not mine, but based on their terror-motivated acceptance of his authority and unwillingness to challenge him in a physical confrontation for the very real fear that they might emerge psychologically traumatized, I grudgingly conceded that perhaps it was a good thing that they knew. At least that way we wouldn't waste precious energy on a meaningless fight.

Once the sisters had all returned to their various seats and most of the heavy, violent atmosphere had evaporated, Carlisle repeated his previous question. "Edward, what did you see?"

"The spell she uses on these five is extremely unpleasant," I decided to say, although the words did little to convey my true mortification with the ghastly process I had seen. "It is… painful to administer and must be frequently reapplied, as its effects are completely nullified whenever they drink human blood."

"But it is able to prevent them from killing humans most of the time, yes?" Esme inquired hopefully. _I am willing to put up with a little pain every few years if it means that I can be closer to my husband. I cannot endure the constant denial he lives in, but this arrangement, I think might work for us. We could finally reconcile our differences and be one. I want that very much. _

_ No, Esme. You do not want this_. I thought to myself. _It is horrible and twisted and evil. Carlisle still loves you, despite your current diet. I think we should go home and never speak of this again. _

But of course, Esme couldn't hear my inner concerns, and before I was able to vocally protest, Carmen butted in with her positive affirmation.

Esme's lightly painted lips burst in to a dazzling, wide smile of unrestrained joy, and she threw her arms enthusiastically around her husband's waist before she proudly declared. "I want the spell administered as soon as possible, then. Is that, alright with you, Aria?" she asked with flawless politeness, giving the undeserving witch her most congenial expression, her hospitable eyes shining with the offer to give the brutal little woman anything she wanted in exchange for an increased degree of closeness with her mate.

Aria's impassive expression twisted into a malefic sneer—at least I knew it was malefic from her corrupted thoughts, outwardly it could pass for simply an eccentric smile. "Of course. The spell is most effective when performed on a full moon, so I would suggest we wait until then, but it would be my _pleasure _to accommodate you." I resisted the urge to growl at her as her hands flexed excitedly as the word "pleasure" rolled deviously off of her serpentine tongue.

"Esme… I don't think…" I protested, until my words were cut off by Aria's thoughts. _Let the doctor's bride submit herself to my power. Clearly it is what she wants. Perhaps this way she might have some meager chance at redemption. _

I blinked quizzically at her words. _Redemption?_ _From what?_

_Redemption from Hell, you idiot,_ her thoughts startlingly responded._ Or has Carlisle not told you of his beliefs?_

_ How are you… how are you reading my thoughts? _I silently asked, taking a nervous step back from the creepily staring woman, whose ring-laden fingers were now eerily caressing a small, red-eyed male doll in her hands, which I supposed was meant to represent me, in some eerily voodoo-istic way despite the fact that she had only been informed of my existence a few hours before our arrival. At least its appearance was rather generic, other than the red eyes, and could have easily already been part of her collection before she had ever heard of me, or else I might have fled the room in terror.

_That is honestly irrelevant, Edward. The fact is that I can. And you want to know what I mean by saying that Carlisle's bride may actually have a sliver of a chance at redemption now. Murders go to Hell, Edward. Surely, you were taught that much during your human life?_ She supplied with a devilish grin.

I kept my body entirely still and tried not to alert anyone else in the room to our nonverbal exchange. _I am a vampire now, _I reminded her, to make the point that the rules of my existences were probably totally different._ Carlisle said that although he cannot bring himself to harm people, especially innocent people, that it is the more logical option. Drinking animal blood causes a litany of adverse health effects._

_ Oh… is that what he told you? He never explained to you then, how he _really_ feels. That he still believes God's commandment "thou shalt not murder" to be very much in force?_ Her grin grew wider now, and her caressing of the pale figurine in her hands more insistent and creepy.

_ What? He's never said anything like that! _I responded inwardly in shock, straining to keep my face blank, although the others were already beginning to notice that something was off. _…I know that he has Christian beliefs… that he prays and all that, but he never believed that... he never said that… he never..._

_ Oh yes Edward, you should ask him about his initial reasons for choosing his diet instead of drinking the blood of humans. Do you honestly think he would try to resist it so much in the beginning if he saw nothing morally wrong with it? Do you honestly think he would persist now, if he saw no potential condemnation for it?_

_ Carlisle is a very sensitive man!_ I argued vehemently._ He… likes to help people, and I agree that it is best to avoid harming innocents. I drink the blood of criminals, you know, _I specified, which justified my actions completely in my mind. All the terrible monsters I consumed were more than worthy of death for their crimes anyway—so really I was doing the world a favor, and satisfying my thirst at the same time. What harm was there in killing two birds with one stone?

_ Ah, but that hardly matters. Every drop of human blood you spill will be required to be atoned for when you die—at least that is what the doctor believes._ Aria bent to kiss the forehead of the small doll cradled in her blood-warmed hands, and I was suddenly overflowing with uncontrollable rage. She was lying, she had to be.

But for some reason her words had struck a chord with me—something inside had stung with a piercing stab of guilt.

_ You lie! You lie! _I mentally screamed at her, all desires to remain still and inconspicuous vanishing entirely from my mind as I hefted the glass coffee table out of my way, and dashed to claw savagely at her throat as it smashed to dust against the living room wall. The witch cackled, her voice high and cold as she watched my approach with bemused interest, and her demonic laughter only grew more hideous as Carlisle and Esme converged around me, each seizing an arm and a leg, and began forcefully dragging me away from the witch I had lunged at in furious rage.

I could still hear the terrible sound of her laughter ringing in my ears even after my "family" had dragged me hallway across the state, and was still thrashing in their arms to rush at her—to crush her between my bare hands.

Everything about that woman was wrong. _She_ was wrong, about Carlisle especially. She had to be.

Or else I was utterly doomed.

…

"Carlisle, is what Aria said true? Do you really think that?" I demanded worriedly, after we had settled back into our newly decorated home, and I had explained to the man I was just starting to trust and love as a father the horrific things Aria had said and showed to me in her spidery thoughts.

Carlisle sighed and a remorseful look passed over his perfect features. "I did, once," he admitted with a rueful shake of his head, before he reached into his collar and drew out a tiny golden cross necklace and fingered in pensively in his hands. "But I no longer see things that way," he declared unexpectedly, with eyes that utterly pierced into my soul. _You have to understand that people's experiences shape what they believe, and my feelings on this matter are complex and have evolved over time, _he thought purposefully in my direction before he verbally continued."The experiments I conducted in Volterra irrefutably proved to me that human blood is what our systems were designed to eat. And although I struggled with this fact for some time, and tried to ignore the ramifications, I eventually came to accept that as far as condemnation-wise, Aro was probably right that our creator would not punish us for doing what is necessary to survive," he finished, dropping the small pendant back into his shirt.

My face was still panicked—I had hoped that he would deny her words entirely, but if they were even partially true… "I… I do not understand," I contributed fearfully, "she said you believed that killing humans was wrong. That you would go to Hell for it."

Carlisle pursed his lips and pressed his fingertips together in mild frustration with himself for not being frank about his early fears sooner as he contemplated the best way to phrase his next statement.

"My father was a very accusing man—quick to pin the weight of damnation on any who were the least bit unworthy. He was cold, intolerant and very strongly believed in a vengeful sort of divine justice. I never quite agreed with him on things theological, I always saw more optimism, more hope, more redemption in the same texts he was claiming to damn all but the most zealous. But there was one belief that I had never thought to question of his: the belief that our kind," he gestured between himself and me, "are damned by our natures, by our compulsion to kill humans."

So it was true. Maybe he no longer believed it now, but at one point, he had—Aria had been right.

"But when I became a vampire myself, the evidence I was presented with did not match up with my father's hypothesis. I certainly still felt like I had a soul, like I had a moral compass and a desire, a chance at heaven, and I began to realize that the notion of an entire species being damned for virtually no reason other than simply existing was entirely ludicrous. And so slowly, my perspective on the matter began to shift."

"Originally, I still thought that in order for vampires to attain salvation, they had to abide by the letter to human laws—including the injunction against maliciously killing human beings," Carlisle explained neutrally, as the memories of his early newborn years danced before my eyes, and I saw his fathomless self-loathing as he tried over and over to rid this earth of his presence, before he discovered that he could survive weakly on the blood of beasts.

I gasped. _Which of course, was the reason he was compelled to drink animal blood in the first place. Really, nothing else but the very real threat of Hell would be a strong enough motivation to keep him away from the allure. _

"But when I began to try and save the souls of others, when Aro tried my diet, and later when the newborns, and a few volunteers submitted themselves to it, I realized that for some unknowable reason, that my resistance is an anomaly. And that for some it is even physically impossible to survive without great quantities of human blood." _The bodies of vampires with physical powers cannot get enough energy to live any other way. To sustain them on animal blood would be impossible, and to attempt to feed them human blood without killing would be a logistical nightmare. _

"I was unwilling to accept it at first, thinking that perhaps there had been some mistake," Carlisle continued with a sadly recollecting expression. "...but as the evidence of their deprivation became undeniable, I was horribly distraught, thinking that God had cruelly provided no means of escape from condemnation for those with physical powers. At least until I recalled that God had promised that he would not suffer those who would be judged by him to be tempted above what we were able to resist, and that for those with such taxing abilities, and most of vampirekind even, resisting the call of human blood was far above what they were able." _Heinrich and I are the only ones who can resist human blood while on an animal blood diet without any kind of outside bewitching of the body, and Aro even entertained theories that perhaps that was an unexpected side-effect of our gifts. I am not sure I believe that, but it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility. _

"I was horrified that perhaps this might mean that for a vampire to kill a human for food was perfectly justified; sinless in of itself," _How could something I perceived to be so foul ever be morally right? Or at least not morally wrong._ "...but the more I turned over this concept in my mind, the more I understood that it made sense. Some commandments given by God may be difficult to keep at times," _injunctions against anger and lust certainly are hard for some to follow,_ "...but certainly none are physiologically impossible to abide without perishing," Carlisle expounded logically, as more images and sounds from his soul-tormented days in the dungeons of Volterra flashed through my mind, especially those of the physically-powered vampires who were brought to the brink of starvation before Aro insisted that they be fed properly.

His reasoning seemed sound enough, but I could not stop the niggling feeling creeping into my heart that perhaps his rationalizations were wrong—that maybe his original gut-feeling had been more cosmically consistent with the real order of the universe.

"After Aro's first daughter was born, I thought about trying to embrace what I was—to switch over to a healthier diet, since there was probably no condemnation in doing so," Carlisle revealed unexpectedly, the jarring vision of Carlisle staring at me with ruby-red eyes, adorned in black velvet robes, with a gleaming silverish pendant hanging around his neck assaulting my brain as he spoke. It was so unexpected that Carlisle, the gentle, had-moral-qualms-about-hurting-everything-human, man I knew now would have ever even merely entertained the idea of drinking the blood of humans in the traditional sort of way. But I grudgingly accepted that at least, his chain of logic was extremely well-laid out.

"Of course, I ran into a major obstacle along the way," Carlisle recalled with a wry smile, as though somehow the particular hindrance he had faced was rather ironic on his pathway toward total acceptance of the orthodox vampire diet. "The notion of killing humans to slake my thirst still horrified me as much as it did before, despite my new perspective. So I decided to persist in my diet of animal blood anyway, because of my… personal difficulties with obtaining human blood the way Aro and other others did," he offered, to explain why he could not bear to hunt with Esme and I but had been nothing but respectful towards our decisions, even though his gut-impression of human-killing with his own hands and teeth was that of disgust and terror.

"If I was not utterly repulsed by it, however, I probably would have embraced the lifestyle the Volturi live and remained among them," he finished with absolute seriousness, and I felt like my jaw was going to unhinge from shock, especially as his next thoughts filtered through my mind: _They saw great potential for my gift, and I have always wanted to work for the benefit of the entire world, but as long as I drank the blood of beasts, I could never be allowed to become a part of the guard. It made me far too weak to be put on the battlefront, even if I was not particularly meant to be a fighter. All of the Volturi must be strong, in case something unexpected happens which requires all of our strength._

He had referred to himself as one of them. At some point in Carlisle's ridiculously long life he had harbored a desire—a fairly strong one even—to join the Volturi. He had assured me when he had first transformed me that he had no recollection of ever killing humans for their blood, so he must not have ever realized this aspiration of his, but the fact that he had ever wanted it was earth-shattering enough.

The man in front of me, in a parallel universe, could have easily ended up as Carlisle of the Volturi, instead of Carlisle Cullen.

I think my brain was going to explode.

"According to my own, _current_ beliefs," Carlisle pressed on, as though he was entirely ignorant to the mind-dissolving shock that was clearly manifested all over my immortal body. "…despite our aspiration to return to that Edenic state where nothing dies, God does not prohibit mankind from killing and eating animals," he analogized, referencing the biblical Garden of Eden to illustrate further how he felt on the matter of his nature. "Some find extreme discomfort at the idea of taking the life of beasts, despite the fact that it is not forbidden by heaven, and chose a life of 'vegetarianism' as a result to this aversion. There is no sin either way, as mankind was created in this fallen state as natural omnivores, but some find themselves unable to harm animals, and others have absolutely no qualms about taking the lives that God has not forbidden them to take."

I think I was starting to understand where Carlisle was going with this one. He had explained this specific portion of his beliefs earlier.

"Personally, in my human life, I was in the latter group," Carlisle announced without the tiniest hint of shame, completely unruffled by the fact that he had remorselessly participated in slaughtering and consuming the various animals his family purchased to eat, much as I had began to feel about killing and imbibing the blood of criminals. "But I held no disdain towards those who abstained from meat. That was their personal choice, and I respected it. Although it was not until I became a vampire that I ever understood it, because now, in a strange sense, I guess you could say that I am the vampire version of a vegetarian. I personally cannot stand the idea of killing humans to eat, even though it is… not forbidden," he offered finally.

It stunned me, Bella, how much Carlisle sounded like Aro when he said this. Apparently the ancient vampire's attempts to sway the younger blond immortal had not been entirely fruitless, given a while to logically absorb his experimental findings. Of course they still had not achieved the desired outcome of Carlisle embracing his predatory nature and developing into a remorseless human-drinker, which I was certain irked Aro to no end.

What stunned me even more though, was that Aro's reasoning was starting to wear off on me, too. At least the concept that vampires would not be damned for their dietary choices was sitting rather comfortably in my mind—how it sat in my very human heart was another matter, of course, but I was beginning to at least rationally understand and accept his belief that human-drinking vampires could still attain salvation as valid.

Edward, on the other hand, was mentally stepping in the opposite direction—something buried deep within the recesses of his, or rather my soul stirred nauseatingly at the ideas that Carlisle had expressed. And even though Carlisle himself had explained rather irrefutably why he felt the way that he did, and saw no reason for divine judgment to fall upon either himself or myself strictly because of which creatures we preyed upon, I was distressed by what I had heard nonetheless.

_What if Carlisle was wrong? What if… we really are damned if we kill to drink human blood? What if… I am already lost? _came my irrational fears.

"Can you promise that this is true?" I begged him, for his oath would probably be adequate to allay these ludicrous fears that had begun propagating in my weary heart. "That killing to eat mortals is not a cause for damnation?"

But Carlisle was too honest to simply lie to me and tell me what I wanted to hear. "I promise nothing, Edward," he said gravely, the uncertainty clearly wearing on him as much as it wore on me. "There is still a slim chance that we all may be damned regardless. I think that all we can do is try our best to live according to our consciences, and continue to pray with the hope that we will be saved," he offered sincerely, reaching a paternal hand over to pat my shoulder, whilst his pale mouth curled into a warm, close-lipped smile. "My conscience compels me to abstain from killing humans, but yours and that of most of the other vampires in this world apparently do not. I may not be comfortable with it, and if you would be swayed, I would be delighted if you were to dedicate yourself to being a 'vegetarian' as well. But, especially knowing the risks, I do not begrudge you, nor any other vampire for your decision to consume human blood," he expressed genuinely, looking me directly in the eyes, his honey-golden irises peering unflinchingly into my bright scarlet orbs, and his total acceptance of everything the color of my eyes entailed, right down to the gritty details, flooded over me through my gift.

His love for Esme and I really was totally unconditional.

I felt vastly unworthy of it.

"You said we might be damned regardless? As in… go to Hell no matter what we do?" I asked with undisguised panic in my voice.

"Edward, I highly, _highly_ doubt that is the case," Carlisle consoled, and—upon sensing I would not reject him—he drew me into a fatherly embrace, hoping to banish my inexplicable fears with the sheer force of his compassion. "My father believed that about us—which is the only reason I bring it up. But I do not. I cannot believe that our creator would truly be so callous as to condemn an entire species because of a nature which he instilled in them." He relinquished his grasp around me and stepped back a bit, with a mock-quizzical look on his face, suggesting that such a thing was unthinkably impossible. "That would be extremely hypocritical, no?"

"But…" _Whoever said that God was necessarily a being of integrity? If we cannot be sure on anything… what if he really is the duplicitous sort who would make impossible rules like that?_

"Edward, you cannot possibly trust Aria's word over mine, can you? Are not my thoughts on this matter clear? Can you see the sincerity of my discoveries in my mind?" Carlisle asked with obvious hurt burning in his eyes. Clearly the fact that I was stepping towards falling into a pit of despair based on her words earlier today, instead of taking courage from his assurances was emotionally wounding him, but I could not bring myself to stop. The fears had become obsessive, and overwhelming.

"Yes… but…" _I do not want to be damned! If there is any chance that killing human beings is wrong, I do not want to take it. I am terrified Carlisle. What do I do?_

Carlisle cut my thoughts off with a perplexed inquiry: "Then why are you troubled, Edward? I may not endorse your methods myself, but they suit you."

"Are you saying that you think that I am a monster?" I shouted in complete mortification. _He thinks that damnation _suits _me? _"That you think I would be happier as a vigilante vampire, rather than a gentle, loving soul like you? Are you saying that you think that is who I am—a savage, human-killing beast?" _I cannot believe what I am hearing!_

_What on earth? _came Carlisle's bewildered thoughts. "I never said that… I…" _What can I possibly say to him? Where is this sudden terror of condemnation coming from? I understand that Edward was raised Christian, but I have never seen him pray even once since his transformation, so I assumed it was not all that important to him. But now… he is acting much as I was in the beginning, though even with my reasons he is unconvinced. What should I do?_ "Edward, you save as many lives as you take—probably even more," he settled on saying at last. "I may not personally be able to do something like that, but… it works in your case," he rushed to clarify, so that I would not be confused as to his meaning, although I already understood that from his thoughts. "I am sure that the citizens in the surrounding towns greatly appreciate you for it."

"Mostly they just scream, if they see," I recalled morosely, ghastly images of shrieking men and women filling my mind, and sending me spiraling deeper and deeper into the sludge of shame.

_That wasn't the right thing to say, then. Perhaps I can change his mind once he realizes what his fears mean he must face. _"Then will you agree to have the spell placed on you along with Esme?" _You said earlier that it was highly unpleasant, which is your polite way of saying, unbearably horrible. _

My head shot up at that. "Carlisle the process is horrific. Please do not let her do it," I pleaded with him—unwilling to let the nightmare of Esme writhing in agony as Aria performed her unnervingly demonic ritual on her with a cruel, eerily wide grin throughout the entire placement of the enchantment.

"She wants to appease me," Carlisle revealed sadly, gazing guiltily at the floor. _I should have made it more obvious, told her more often, demonstrated more clearly that I love her regardless._ "I have told her over and over again that her feeding with you does not upset me. I am actually glad that she can enjoy a healthy life because of it, but she worries instead that I secretly judge her for it," he said with a pained expression as he shook his hands back and forth emphatically, to visually demonstrate both his frustration and perplexion with Esme's paranoid line of thinking.

Suddenly his expression became very, _very _serious. "Do you suppose Esme is condemned as well?"

"I… I…" _What on earth was I supposed to say to that?_ "If we are all damned regardless…" I suggested weakly, unwilling to finish my pessimistic thoughts aloud, although Carlisle evidently could already guess where they were headed.

"_Please_, Edward. You must realize that God would have to be completely _tyrannical_ to do such a thing as damn an entire people because of a thirst _he_ gave them." _Forget the philosophers' arguments to explain away the Problem of Evil, such a thing would be impossible to justify and maintain benevolence!_

"Then what if he is?" I countered acidly. "What if he _is _tyrannical, Carlisle? We cannot really know, can we?!" I shouted in enraged hysteria, earning a brief, dark glare from Carlisle for daring to insult the one he worshiped, before his expression softened and his mind kicked into hypothetical theologian mode.

"If he is not too benevolent to do such a thing, why care about pleasing him at all?" Carlisle proposed unexpectedly, pausing in his repair work to sweep his hands out to the sides in a pronounced "why not?" gesture. _If our desire for salvation stems from the desire for everything to be fair, just and good, then there really would be no point in seeking after a reward that offered anything less._

I could not believe what I was hearing.

"What?" I staggered back from him in total shock.

"I am not saying that I believe your line of thinking, quite the contrary," he stipulated immediately. "But let's say for a moment that God really is tyrannical enough to make our salvation contingent on a commandment that less than .01 percent of all the vampires in all of history are actually even remotely capable of keeping. Would you really want anything to do with a being that punishes his creations so arbitrarily?" _Would you bow yourself to someone whose reign was so blatantly unfair?_

As Bella, Carlisle's argument made perfect sense. I wasn't really religious, but I understood that hypothetically, if God really was like that, then he ought to be impeached, not worshiped—but I also grasped that this suggestion was entirely impossible from Carlisle's perspective. But as Edward, for some unfathomable reason, ever since Aria had placed the spell on me, damnation for killing humans seemed to be an unshakeable reality, and in my insurmountable, inexplicable horror, I was desperate to escape it by any means necessary, no matter the implications.

"…If it means escaping the pain of eternal Hellfire…" I mumbled fearfully, the inexplicable terror washing over me again—an involuntary influx of sordid guilt and self-loathing.

"You would cower before a malevolent, sadistic ruler simply to save yourself from pain?" _How could you stand to gain a salvation that was so unfairly distributed? Could you really just sit idly and watch as your friends who should be guiltless writhed in a wholly undeserved Hell? _

"You would do differently?" I demanded, unable to comprehend what he might do instead. Certainly, avoiding damnation at all costs sounded like the best idea to me, even if I did have to let others burn. If I was saved, that was all that mattered, right?

"Hypothetically speaking, I would not stand for it," Carlise avowed poignantly. "Certainly there is not much that I could do against such a force," _If this same malevolent God is also omnipotent, then all of my strength is entirely insignificant…_ "But that would not mean I would simply agree to accept his unreasonable reign. I would fight it," _Until I was obliterated from existence. _"Or at least try."

"You would rebel against heaven." I could not believe it—the idea of the penitently pious man who prayed sincerely every morning and night and poured over religious texts with dedicated frequency leading a charge of angry souls in a rage against the heavens did not fit with my perception of him. All of this devotion he demonstrated, and he would fight that same being whom he claimed he would follow his every command?

"Only if heaven was corrupt. Which is not the case, of course." _I would not be so firm in my faith if it were. _"It is true that, regrettably, God has been rather silent on the issue of vampires. I honestly cannot say definitively either way what he expects or does not expect from us." _It would be really helpful if there was more of God's word which explicitly outlined his expectations for our kind, but alas, we have no such luck._ "But you forget that he still answers my prayers. Frequently, I might add. Apparently I have not lost _all _favor with him. Or do you think the evidence of my faith to be merely delusions of communication with a being who does no actually exist and lucky coincidences?" _Either you must concede that my experiences are genuine, and we are not all damned regardless, or you must believe my experiences to be a farce. I see no other possible conclusion, Edward. _

_Damn it. He has me there. _

"His character does not strike me as tyrannical when I speak to him…" Carlisle added, just to solidify his argment even more, and I resisted the urge to hiss under my breath. _Why did Carlisle's thoughts always have to be so genuine? He can't honestly think that I would tell him to his face that I think he's crazy. Especially since I don't. I might not be an extremely pious man myself, but at least his divine communications feel real enough to me through his thoughts. I can't simply deny that. That would be both ridiculously rude and dishonest. _

I was totally at a loss as to what to say.

Carlisle patted my shoulder again, and bestowed another heart-string-pulling smile, which he was so good at it bordered on manipulative. "Ponder it for a while, Edward," he suggested softly as he gave my upper arm a tender squeeze. "But if you no longer desire to hunt humans, I suggest you inform Aria soon," he said with a suddenly grave voice. "She will be performing the ritual on Esme in three days, and it will not be until the next month that she can perform it again. Obviously your hunger will need to be satisfied before then."

I abruptly stood up. "Carlisle…" "I… I cannot kill either… not if there is any risk like that… I already went to Hell once… figuratively," I added, to wipe the petrified look off of Carlisle's face, who seemed to take my insinuation literally, supposing that before he had transformed me I had traversed the veil of death, and been tormented in actual Hell before he had brought me back. Instead I was referring to the Spanish Influenza itself—that had been pure torture, and I could only imagine that real Hell would be way, _way _worse.

"I do not want to go back," I practically groveled, for how much desperation and agony cracked my voice.

Carlisle frowned deeply, but seemed to accept that I would not be moved on this matter. "Very well, I will contact Aria."


	17. Chapter 16: A Fate Worse than Death

**AN: This chapter is an interesting turning point for the Cullen's I think, but I have to warn that it also discusses some uncomfortable topics (suicide, violence, sexual assault) and one of the characters applies victim-blaming logic to themselves. Please note that the latter is not included because I believe that kind of reasoning to be valid—I actually find it really heartbreaking that people in real life blame themselves for horrible things that happened to them—but because I think that, given the time period, this particular character would actually be taught to feel that way. I think that I make it very clear in the text that victim-blaming should be frowned upon, but I did not want anyone to be confused in the slightest. I think it is rather serious business, because it still happens today, although a little less often, and usually not quite so dramatically.**

**Again, you'll understand when you read the chapter. Hope that's not too spoilery.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: A Fate Worse than Death<strong>

After I had taken upon myself Aria's excruciating thirst-suppression spell, the extreme terror I felt at the prospect of being damned for the mortal deaths I had caused, and the suffocating guilt which enveloped my whole being as I replayed the grisly scenes of their demises obsessively over and over again in my head only grew. Carlisle's unconditionally loving support no matter the hue of my irises helped to allay the heavy burden of shame I carried with me, as I struggled, even with the assistance of Aria's enchantment to fight off my occasional murderous cravings. But as the years went by, and I slipped up here and there when I happened upon the few human beings whose blood appealed to my monstrous digestive system enough to override the momentous repressing force of the runic enchantment, there was nothing Carlisle could do to keep my guilt from further increasing in potency every time I went to have the spell renewed.

I felt that if I were truly an honorable enough man, I would only have had to get the spell placed on me once, and I would have exhibited enough restraint to never succumb to the call of human blood after that. So when I approached Aria each time after her enchantment was shattered by my weakness, I was always initially greatly ashamed to ask for her services again. And as she leered at me with those vibrant green, soul-piercing eyes, and silently made her preparations, the feeling only soured because I could hear her coldly disapproving thoughts, and it pained me to disappoint her. But the most intense guilt came when I felt the cold metal sting of Aria's magical chains as she restrained me, in order to keep my ravenous mouth away from the bewitching markings she drew on my skin in human blood, because as I savagely thrashed about, gnashing my teeth and lapping wildly at the air in my best attempt to get some of the forbidden substance on my tongue, I knew that the devilish creature I was in those moments as she awakened and then put to sleep my thirst was who I would be without her help.

Without Aria's intervention, I would be a complete monster.

And with each reiteration of the spell, this knowledge was hammered deeper and deeper into my heart, progressively filling my entire being with obsessive horror with myself, until it began to be unbearable.

In a moment of extreme weakness I had begged Carlisle to use his gift to make me forget some of my torturous feelings—not to dispel my guilt entirely, but to simply lessen it to some degree—for I knew that without my guilt, I would have nothing to urge me to persist in drinking animal blood, and would therefore relinquish my only hope for obtaining heaven. But Carlisle had sadly informed me that emotions were something that his powers could not touch, as those were an instinctual, physical reaction, and his powers were strictly mental, and had stalwartly refused to alter my mind, because he feared it would breed mistrust between us. His thoughts revealed that he had greatly damaged his most dear friendship—his relationship with Aro of the Volturi—by the misuse of his gift, though the images which accompanied this thought were vague, blurred and washed out, and the sounds were muffled to an incomprehensible murmur. But he was adamant that he would not make that same mistake with me, no matter how often I protested that I wanted him to at least try to alleviate some of my pain.

He was not entirely unwilling to propose other remedies to my agony however. Being greatly worried for our deteriorating health, which was starting to visibly take its toll on our immortal bodies, and having noticed that both Esme and I seemed much more heartily distressed by the notion of human death than we ever had been when we were consuming criminals, (since the victims of our " slip ups" were almost invariably hapless innocents), Carlisle suggested several times that Esme and I resume our old eating habits. But both of us had momentously shifted our perspectives on the matter since we had undergone the spell—what had once seemed to be an excellent way to fight crime and satisfy our thirst at the same time, was horrifyingly repugnant to us now, and neither of us wanted to ever go back to that way of living ever again.

It no longer mattered whether they were guiltless or not—humans were humans and although it had never bothered us to consume the wretches of society to satisfy our thirst before, I had no doubts that now Esme and I would wail just as disconsolately, smash everything around us into dust, rubble and splinters just as furiously, and scratch just as hatefully at our own skin if the people we killed when we lost control were culpable or not. It was true that this radical paradigm shift had only taken a few short months, but there was no room for turning back in our minds. Esme and I were absolutely determined to try our very hardest to never cause another human being to die ever again.

It troubled Carlisle that we were both so suddenly violently averse to something which we had accepted with extreme ease before—especially since Esme and I were now both _more_ ethically averse to the idea of drinking human blood than Carlisle ever had been, to the point that even when we exhibited perfect control over our lobotomized thirst, we felt guilty for even feeling the slightest attraction to human blood, as though that was somehow our fault as well. He was not upset that we found mortal demise distasteful, for he rather agreed with us on that front, but our alarming tendency to blame ourselves for that which was beyond our control, such as our body's innate, physiological response in the presence of spilled human blood, our ethical revulsion toward drinking even bottled, donated human blood and the swiftness of our change of heart struck Carlisle as both as highly illogical and perturbingly unnatural.

And so he started to entertain the ridiculous notion that the spell was messing with our heads.

Which I assured him was totally untrue—I could not fathom how it could be anything else—but Carlisle insisted upon studying it, nonetheless.

Observing the irritable behaviors of the others who remained under Aria's influence, Carlisle deduced (falsely, in my opinion) that the spell not only did as it was supposed to and shut off the signals our bodies sent to our brains to indicate when we were thirsty—forcing us to rely on our changing eye-color to remind us to feed, except when the appeal of a human's blood was strong enough to override the enchantment—but that it also artificially triggered feelings of despair, fear, anger, and disgust towards everything and everyone associated with the drinking of human blood. He surmised that it was Aria who was making our feelings grow more potent with each performance of the painful ritual, and that this would explain why all of us who underwent it displayed such an alarming unwillingness to take the death-free human blood he kept on hand in case of emergencies, but instead steadfastly resisted until our instincts dragged us into the hunt.

Carlisle also claimed that if Aria's spell did more than advertised, it would clarify why the Denali coven, all of whom had once been human-drinkers themselves, were so unforgivingly furious with every vampire who did not choose their current lifestyle. Eleazar was the only one who was immune to this, but Carlisle believed that this discrepancy was easily accounted for, since Eleazar had fervently refused to reinstate the spell a few years before we had become aware of its existence, and instead lived somewhat more comfortably on a mixed diet of animal blood and human blood by hunting and obtaining blood from local morgues and combining the fluids into a single drink, so that he could choke it down all at once. At least, that was what he was attempting to do—frequently he simply abandoned animal blood altogether and reverted completely to his previous, human-slaughtering ways.

Having been free of Aria's unnerving powers for almost a decade, he did not share the others' passionate animosity towards the Volturi—which Carlisle believed to have been advanced by the witch's deceptive manipulations—nor feel the tiniest shred of guilt for what he did, aside from the fact that it pained him to go against his mate's wishes. And for some unthinkable reason, Carlisle thought this was a good thing. He claimed that he was only worried that our self-hatred was artificial, and wanted to protect us from severe emotional harassment, if his far-fetched conspiracy theory that Aria was sneaking inauthentic, painful feelings into the spell that was supposed to be helping us with was true. But from the same depths of my heart that I felt those emotions which Carlisle was worried about, I was also suspicious that he was simply trying to corrupt us, trying to tear us down, so that we would all become damned like his old friends in Volterra.

I could not believe that he would be so selfish, but what other explanation was there?

Aria was no danger to us—certainly she harbored a deep hatred of vampirekind, and behaved eerily sometimes, but none of that mattered because she gave us the means to earn our salvation. However, because of his suspicions, Carlisle was slowly, carefully trying to persuade us to stop seeing her, to revert to the hellish demons that we once were, because in his mind that would somehow be better than to be manipulated into sacrificing our well-being, and being harrowed with powerful negative feelings against our will.

From his thoughts I could tell that he was genuinely distressed with what he saw, and increasingly wary around the witch who Esme, I and the Denali sisters fiercely respected and protected, but none of us were ever going to let him hurt her, or force us to stop using her spells.

No matter what he discovered, we would fight until our last breath to make sure such a thing never happened.

…

It was in the midst of this great conflict between Carlisle and Eleazar and the rest of both of their covens about the nature of Aria's enchantments that Rosalie Hale joined us, rather suddenly one day, as Carlisle unexpectedly returned after having mysteriously disappeared for a few days, in a rather theatrical fashion. Despite our recent arguments, Carlisle, Esme and I had settled easily into the roles of the father, the mother and the son, and the latter two of that group were totally unprepared for the addition of a new member when Carlisle burst in dramatically through the door, carrying a statuesque, pale-blonde girl over threshold of our recently renovated home, whose wild eyes were a terrifying shade of crimson, and who was inexplicably arrayed in a breathtaking, expensive wedding dress, complete with a veil.

Despite this woman's evident newborn savagery, she was breathtakingly beautiful, and as Carlisle gently set her on the lushly carpeted floor and introduced her to us as Rosalie Hale, the newest addition to our coven, Esme, whose beauty had faded slightly from adopting an animal blood diet and who had (as had all the other women on this diet) taken to wearing a wig to hide her comparatively hideous, short, brittle hair, very nearly had a heart-attack—even though that was technically physiologically impossible. She jumped to the horrifying conclusion that Carlisle was replacing her with this stunning new vampire—and for a split second I supposed that too, from the dress and her ethereal beauty, despite both of us knowing full-well such an adulterous action was _way_ out of character for him.

I was just about to lunge wrathfully at Carlisle for being so unbelievably shallow and selfish until his thoughts suddenly revealed his true intentions, and all of my pent up wrath instantly evaporated—it was impossible to be furious when I knew the truth. But Esme, without the benefit of my gift, was glaring icy daggers at the mildly confused, gorgeous blonde woman as she dashed gracefully over to the nearest couch, her elegant wedding dress billowing around her while she moved with inhuman swiftness and arranged herself in a ladylike pose. Esme emitted a low warning growl as Rosalie seated herself, and the usually gentle, maternal woman's thoughts flooded with an overwhelmingly intense, territorial, instinctual rage—_Carlisle is my mate!_ her thoughts practically screamed. _How dare you lay your filthy paws on him! He is mine! MINE! Get away from him or I will rip you apart!_

I was somewhat taken aback in shock by the unnervingly animalistic behavior that Esme was exhibiting, but knowing how deep relationships between immortals could get, and how totally devastated Carlisle was to lose Aro, even though their association was strictly platonic, it should not have been so unexpected that she would react this way in response to a threat against the powerful romantic bond she shared with Carlisle. He was her mate—and that meant that to lose him would be to take away her reason for living.

Carlisle, who was innocently oblivious as to what was going on, seemed bewildered by his mate's jealously infuriated expression, until I quickly stepped between the tense couple before Esme foolishly tried to dismember Rosalie, and clarified the unavoidable misconception for him verbally. "Esme thinks that this woman," I said coldly, gesturing to the rapidly fidgeting newborn fussing with her luscious, long curly hair, and in a shocking bout of vanity adjusting her makeup in spite of the incredible pressure building in the room. "…is a replacement for her. That she is your new wife."

A petrified look overcame Carlisle's puzzled features as my words sunk in and the girl whose thoughts were previously wholly absorbed in her unnecessary primping, turned to violent disgust at my proposal that the two of them were romantically involved. _Eww, he may not be that much older than me physically, but he totally acts old enough to be my father… or my _grand_father. Yuck, _Rosalie thought. _Plus, he told me right up front that he was married, because I was confused why he showed absolutely no interest. I still do not understand how this guy can call himself male and not think I am the loveliest thing ever, but somehow he does it. _

As Carlisle's gaze flickered between his incensed mate, and the phenomenally ravishing vampire he had just carried bridal style into the home, in an enormous wedding dress, no less, he immediately understood the source of the misconception. Thankfully, his thoughts were less annoyingly conceited than Rosalie's—which felt terribly inappropriate given the seriousness of Esme's misunderstanding—and more heartbrokenly frantic: _Esme thinks… dear heavens, she thinks I have betrayed her! Looking at Rosalie now I entirely understand why it appears that way… the dress… the bridal-style entrance… I should have thought about that before, but it honestly never crossed my mind. I do not see Rosalie that way at all. Surely you can vouch for me Edward?_ he pleaded with me mentally, as soon as he understood what his wife and mate of twelve years supposed of him after the shockingly matrimonial-looking display he had unwittingly put on.

I nodded to convey my support and immediately, without warning, flashes of the ghastly scene Carlisle had stumbled upon in the streets a couple of nights ago, raced across my mind. I saw Rosalie's traumatized, naked body left torn and bleeding in the streets, through Carlisle's eyes and I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest as I felt the force with which Carlisle was stricken with compassion on this poor, broken and battered woman. Covering her as best as he could with his woolen jacket, he had carried her swiftly off to a remote location to protect her privacy, bit as gently as possible into her skin in several places to save her life, and waited patiently beside her as she endured the exquisite agony of transformation. When the fiery pain at last had ebbed away, Carlisle had graciously taken her back into the city at night to fetch her some proper clothes, and to find someone to eat in order alleviate her ravenous thirst, even though it was painful for him to watch her sink her teeth violently into the neck of a homeless, petty thieving man. After she was fed, she had insisted on retrieving the wedding gown she was meant to wear for her fiancé for some unknowable reason, which I recognized as the gown she had come in through the door with, and the pair had come straight back here after that.

After witnessing this frightening overview of Carlisle's activities over the last couple of days, I turned to my surrogate mother, who had moved into a tensile crouch, prepared to spring at the recent female addition to this house, and slowly parted my pale lips to explain, in the most delicate way possible that Carlisle and Rosalie never had and never would dance the horizontal tango. After the horribly gruesome things which he and I had seen, and knowing that Carlisle had kicked into "doctor mode" immediately upon catching the scent of Rosalie's blood—which diverted all of his focus toward identifying and treating injuries, and left absolutely no room for sexual attraction to develop—I had no doubts whatsoever that Esme's estimation of what had occurred between the two blond vampires was completely out of the question.

"Esme, this is not what it looks like," I began slowly, softly, in an attempt to calm her mounting fury, which proved somewhat successful as Esme seemed to process what I had said after a moment, and gradually started to relax, assuming an upright position and readjusting the wig she wore which had become slightly lopsided from her rapid battle preparations. Despite my trustworthy reassurance, Esme was still making a very concerted effort of melt Rosalie into the floor with the sheer force of her stare—which briefly struck me as hilarious, because as a newborn who fed on human blood, Rosalie would easily be able to wipe the floor with Esme. It would be a two-second fight—no a two-second smack-down. Esme would not be able to get a single hit on her—the differences in their strengths was simply too vast.

_Look, lady, _came Rosalie's vicious thoughts._ I did not touch your precious man. It irks me that he's too much of a saint to even really appreciate my magnificence, but I would never go for him anyway. He is really not my type. If he is into older women who hide their falling-out hair with wigs, by all means, you can have him. Clearly he would not recognize beauty if it smacked him upside the head . _Outwardly, however, Rosalie was silent and simply stuck up her nose at Esme and slowly floated out from behind Carlisle to cross her arms and give Esme a "whatcha-gonna-do-about-it" look—she apparently got a kick out of pissing Emse off, even if the pretenses were entirely false.

"Edward, tell me everything that happened," Esme said in a strained voice that was trying to emerge in calm, even tones, but came out wavering with lingering mistrust and envious anger, which were only aggravated by Rosalie's confrontational attitude. _I trust you, Edward, but this woman is showing all the signs of a possessive mistress. How on earth did Carlisle meet her? If she is simply acting to rile me up, then why would Carlisle transform her?_

"Esme… it is a rather long and uncomfortable story," I warned, glancing worriedly at Carlisle to convey my unwillingness to share what I had seen out loud. Rape was a nasty thing to talk about, especially when the wound was still so fresh in Rosalie's mind, but upon seeing Esme's impatiently tapping heel, I exasperatedly relented, choosing my words with meticulous care so as to not aggravate present company too much. "Rosalie was hurt… _badly_ by her fiancé and his friends." _There, at least that is not too explicit. _"They left her to die in the streets and Carlisle took pity on her." _And saw her naked. But he really was not paying any attention to that—with all the blood and stuff… _ "He transformed her and fed her, nothing more," I reassured Esme with my most serious and sincere tone of voice.

Esme's scrutinizing gold eyes slanted towards Carlisle skeptically. _Carlisle is not the type to be dishonest with his thoughts, so I suppose I must believe you, Edward. But what on earth was with that dramatic entrance? And her clothes… _"Then why the dress…?" Esme asked aloud, her suspicious gaze roving over the long silky white gown which clung perfectly to Rosalie's pronounced hourglass figure, and her plump rose-painted lips thinning and twisting ever so slightly downwards as she struggled to mentally resolve the conundrum of Rosalie being arrayed like the perfect bride, and Carlisle apparently not having had any sort of marital relations with her.

"Rosalie is somewhat of a drama queen," I sighed, and although Rosalie hissed at my evident irritation with her desire for theatrics, she totally knew it was true. "She is planning her revenge against the men who hurt her, and she wants them to kill them in that," I added bitterly, before jabbing an ashen finger sharply in the direction of her utterly impractical assassination garb.

Esme's face dawned with mortified comprehension and she shuddered violently at my revelation. _Revenge? In a wedding dress?_ Esme thought in horror._ Is she insane? As a newborn, she'll get blood all over it. We all start out as terribly messy eaters… Not to mention that revenge is such a horrible thing to do regardless. _"She wants to eat them? Those who wronged her?" came Esme's vocal inquiry, her eyes pleading with Rosalie to reconsider.

_No, never will any part of those men come into me, _Rosalie's thoughts cut in ardently._ I will not stand for it. _

I quickly shook my head. "I do not think so. What they did to her was so disgusting… she does not want any part of them inside of her. Not even their blood."

"She simply wants them dead then… wastefully?" Esme asked bewilderedly, unable to comprehend the idea that a Rosalie would not only kill her perpetrators—which was unthinkably atrocious in of itself—but would even go so far as to neglect to drain their blood afterwards, which would necessitate even more slaughter later. Not to mention that something as cold-hearted, and thoroughly pointless as revenge pricked the fibers of Eme's acute heart. _This beautiful woman wants to commit cold-blooded murder? And even go out of her way not to try and justify them as meals?_

Clearly upset by the prospect of such profligate massacre, Esme frantically spun towards her husband, her false caramel curls tossing around her and sought his eyes out with hers, her golden gaze glossed with venom like she was about to cry. "Will you allow her to do this?"

"I have been trying to talk her out of it," Carlisle quickly responded, his voice raw with emotion. "But none of us have the strength to hold her back if she were to fight us over it," he rationally pointed out, with a hasty gesture towards us and the evidence of our animal drinking, before his hand stretched out sadly towards Rosalie.

Esme dipped her head and her soft features molded into a sour expression. "That is true…"

"Will she be drinking the blood of humans?" I asked, suddenly concerned that Carlisle would not only permit this woman, of whom my first impression was that she was total bitch to become our new covenmate, but also that he would permit her to abide with us even as she savagely murdered humans for their blood.

Carlisle looked uncertainly at me, then to his mate, before he turned to Rosalie. _Edward, please do not do anything rash if she chooses otherwise. Although it is against my better judgment, you may stay on the spell so long as I cannot conclusively prove it is altering your mind, but I refuse to coerce her into choosing our lifestyle. _"That is entirely up to you," he calmly informed the curious looking blonde beside him.

"The rest of you do not drink human blood?" she replied quizzically. _I thought that all creatures like this did that. Carlisle said it was the only way to stay healthy. Does that mean the rest of them are sick?_

"That is correct. We drink the blood of animals," Carlisle answered neutrally, directing two fingers towards his honey-toned eyes and the eyes of Esme and myself to indicate that they were the most blatant evidence of this fact.

Rosalie's dubious gaze followed his movements and she wrinkled her nose in confused disgust. "Is that even edible?"

"Edible? Certainly," Carlisle said brightly with a cheery smile. _Or at least it is swallowable with some effort…_ he thought truthfully."But pleasant? …not so much," he offered with a resigned sigh. _You will probably think it tastes like liquid dirt. That has been my experience, at least._ "Animal blood can keep us alive, but our health suffers as a result, it does not fully satisfy us, and Esme and Edward must use a…" he searched for a neutral term, "…enchantment to assist them in managing their thirst," he added to clarify that it was the nutritionally illogical option, and that since our restraint was impossible without outside support, it was also unnatural. _You really probably would not like it. I think that sticking to human blood suits you better, Rosalie. I do not like to see humans suffer… but I do not like to see vampires suffer either… Edward and I may struggle with the idea of causing human death, and Esme may not want to upset me, but it wounds me to see us so woefully undernourished. I am working on a substitute, but you, Rosalie do not have to submit yourself to the pain in the meantime. Especially when I am concerned about Esme and Edward's current remedy… I am not prepared to pressure that upon you when I am suspicious of it. So I will leave the choice in your hands. _

I did not like the fact that Carlisle was unwilling to play up the perks of his diet, or even mitigate the downsides a little to make it sound more appealing—Rosalie would never choose to drink animal blood willingly when he framed it like that. And Carlisle knew it. And he also knew how I felt about the so-called "natural vampire diet"—that I passionately hated it and believed that all who fed in that manner were unanimously damned without exception. Why then was he so obviously nudging her in the direction of adhering to traditional vampiric methods? Was he really doing it for the reasons he thought, or simply to spite me?

"Either way, I will respect your decision," Carlisle promised magnanimously, with warmly outstretched arms to visually demonstrate that Rosalie was welcome to join our coven regardless of her choice.

_I have not even had a proper whiff of animal blood yet, but the whole concept sounds disgusting, _Rosalie thought_. And those two cannot even stand to live that way without some kind of freaky black magic? No. Humans are jerks. I am perfectly fine continuing to eat them. _"I think that—"

This conversation was not going the direction I wanted, so I intervened with my vehement objection. "No! She should adapt to our lifestyle or leave," I demanded furiously, stabbing an angry finger toward the modest wooden front door through which Rosalie had come to illustrate my passionate desire for her to do exactly that. "I refuse to live with a monster!"

"Edward!" Carlisle cried out in affronted shock. _This is not your decision. Back off._ "A diet on animal blood should never be forced on anyone. You and I both know that to do such a thing is impossibly cruel!"

"No what is _cruel_ is to let her _murder_ people for their blood! What kind of sick monster lets someone do that? Especially when she's going to Hell for it!" I shouted with a venomous snarl, enraged that my surrogate father was effectively, from my perspective, pressuring this young adult woman into an eternity of condemnation for the petty reasons of increased stamina and unearthly beauty.

Rosalie stiffened at the mention of the word Hell. _What are you talking about? That's right, Carlisle told me about your powers. You had better explain. _

Carlisle, however, seeing Rosalie's disturbed expression and guessing her internal musings, beat me to the punch: "Edward believes us to be damned if we kill humans for their blood. I do not share his outlook, at least not any longer…" he added, to make sure not to make the same mistake of only sharing his current beliefs, and frighten her with the possibility of damnation later. "But he sees taking human lives as a grievous sin." _At least, ever since he met that creepy witch he thinks that…_

I scowled at Carlisle for insulting Aria, and Rosalie laughed at his statement—the sound was merciless, shrill and piercing. "Well it does not matter anyway. I am already going to Hell," she announced as though her filthy, unsalvageable soul was already firmly affixed in the bottomless pit and there was no power on heaven or earth that could possibly uproot it from that awful location. "Those men took from me something I can never get back. Whores don't go to heaven. So if I am going to Hell, then I am going to make damn sure that I drag those godforsaken devils with me!" she yelled loudly enough that the walls of the house shook slightly, and clenched her fists so tightly that I wondered if she might crush her own fingers to dust from the amount of pressure she was exerting on them. "And while I am at it… I might as well enjoy myself, right?" she finished with a demonic, lopsided smirk.

_She thinks she is damned because she's a rape victim? _I thought bewilderedly. _What kind of twisted logic is that?_

"Rosalie. You do not need to blame what happened to you on yourself," Carlisle soothed, with an empathically wounded look on his face. "They hurt you, but that does not make you past redemption."

"Surely your parents told you what happens to girls who let men touch them before they are married…" Rosalie countered acidly with a glare so cold that Carlisle instantly froze when it fell upon him.

"There was absolutely nothing you could do to prevent that," he justified with deep concern etched into his chiseled features. "They… did not really give you a choice…"

"I was asking for it though, wasn't I?" she practically screamed now, her fury with her underserved eternal sentence blazing hotter as Carlisle fought diligently to disprove it. "That is what all of my friends would say. Such a pretty girl all alone at night, she should have known better than to tempt them…"

"That is no excuse for what they did, Rosalie. Nothing can excuse that!" Carlisle spat in complete repugnance at the idea that anyone would attempt to rationalize such a heinous crime with an excuse which capitulated all the blame on the utterly innocent victim. "Imagine the situation in reverse," he urged her to consider. "What if it was me who was walking down that street and a group of women decided to assault me? Would I be under condemnation for simply being attractive?"

Rosalie's face looked like Carlisle had just declared that the sky was purple with yellow polka dots. The situation Carlisle was describing seemed totally impossible in her mind because she had been raised to believe that a woman carrying out a sexual assault on a man was not simply culturally unthinkable, but physically impossible. Also, the idea that a group of women would possess enough cumulative sex drive among them to even attempt such a thing was beyond her ability to comprehend—she had been taught that men enjoyed sex and women endured it in order to have children. Women certainly never would seek it out when a man was unwilling.

Rosalie, like most high-class women in this era, had been fed a slew of misogynist lies, and was unable to believe that situation Carlisle was describing had ever occurred. She was right, in a sense—Carlisle himself, thankfully, had never endured anything of the sort—but I could see in his mind that he had heard of such things happening, both among humans and in the vampire world, where physical strength differences between men and women were less pronounced. He also was well aware, having been married for twelve years, that women enjoyed physical intimacy just as much as men did, and were no more or less corruptible in that regard than men. Certainly the expectations of patriarchal society permitted more leeway for men to victimize women than the other way around, but Carlisle, with the strong egalitarian outlook he had developed over his centuries of observation of the sexes, could not imagine that heaven would operate on such a blatant double-standard.

Sexual assault, in Carlisle's eyes, was one the worst things a person could possibly do to another, and he was not the only vampire to feel that way. Rape was not a crime that the Volturi enforced laws against worldwide, but if Aro ever came to know about it—which he invariably did at some point—he would personally execute the rapist for it, because he knew intimately, through his gift, how much that foul, degrading crime hurt. He had endured the excruciating details of the trauma—secondhand, of course, but no less potently—hundreds of times.

And Carlisle had witnessed one of these brutal executions during his stay.

And the rapist had been a woman.

"Is that… Is that even possible?" Rosalie asked in evident alarm, grudgingly accepting that she was somewhat naïve, after the incident which had led to her transformation, but unwilling to believe the prospect without some kind of intellectual proof.

Carlisle nodded in assent. "Yes, Rosalie. It never happened to me, but it does happen. More often than you think."

_But then… _she protested mentally before Carlisle's earlier words rang forcefully in her head: _Would I be under condemnation for simply being attractive? _She paused with a concerted frown to reflect on his words. _Is that what is happening here? Am I blaming myself for another's decision that was based on an innate characteristic over which I have no control? I did not exactly try to seduce them… in fact I tried my best to stop them, but there were five of them and one of me, and they were all very drunk, very strong men… Maybe he is right…_

Rosalie's dead crimson eyes showed the first signs of life since she had entered the house—she was not yet completely convinced that she was absolved of all her guilt, but I could tell she was making steps in that direction, which was a good sign, I guess.

Especially because if she believed she had a chance at heaven, I might be able to convince her to protect that chance by receiving Aria's spell and becoming an animal drinker—not because I particularly cared about her, or her soul, but because I hated the idea that she would cause humans to pass from this earth.

Those who killed humans without remorse deserved a fate worse than death.

…

Several months after Rosalie had started living with us, taking up residence in one of the unused rooms upstairs and keeping mostly to herself, since Esme and I both had severe difficulties getting along with her, and Carlisle was often away at work, laboring to save human precious lives, visiting the Denali coven to discuss his worries with Eleazar, or holed up in our basement trying to create a substitute for human blood in the high-tech private science lab he had created for himself, I discovered something positively horrible in Carlisle's mind and decided to give him a hearty slap on the face.

Carlisle recoiled from the stinging impact of my palm, more in shock than pain—although I had hit him rather hard—and instinctively raised a hand to cradle the injury, with an expression of deep hurt marring his elegant features. "Ouch!" _Where on earth did that come from? Was I thinking something unpardonable?_ "Might you tell what inspired this, Edward?" Carlisle enquired confoundedly as he staggered back from me a few steps to place himself out of my immediate reach so that he might be able to react before my wrathful hand could connect with his face again.

"You created Rosalie with the expectation that she would become my mate?!" I yelled irately, positively nauseated by the prospect of being so fervently intimate with the vain, human-slaughtering, self-important drama queen who acted like she owned the place whenever she deigned to make an appearance. The mere idea of such an unholy matrimony of disparate souls was utterly repugnant—especially since I was aiming for heaven, and she was a remorseless murderer who killed to eat and had exacted cold-blooded revenge on five men who, although reprehensible, should not have died at her hands.

"I thought perhaps it could be a possibility…" Carlisle admitted sheepishly. _When you took upon yourself the spell, you became extremely distraught. I had hoped, since Esme seems to be coping somewhat better, that perhaps a mate would be able to assist you to be happier as well._ "But that was not why I did it," he defended quickly, with raised hands, palms outward in wary "stay back" position to suggest that I should not injure him again. "It was only while I was waiting for her transformation to be complete that I had the thought that maybe…"

I released a low, guttural growl to voice my displeasure and Carlisle immediately, wisely ceased speaking along those lines.

"But if you do not desire that, then there is no issue," he assured frantically. "She does not desire you either, it would seem, so all is well." _I am not sure we could cope with the drama of unrequited love on top of everything else going on right now. I really need to get to the bottom of what this spell does soon. _

"I do not care about your pointless investigation. Give it up Carlisle! Esme and I are not drinking human blood!" I said with a disdainful sneer. "I know that you drink bottled human blood sometimes, and you keep it from Esme, but you are not going to force your ways on us!"

"I do not intend to, Edward," Carlisle said with concern, floating backwards a few more steps over the tiled kitchen floor. "I simply worry that you are already being forced—by Aria. If that is not the case, I will desist," he promised coolly.

My lips curled into a mistrustful frown. "And if it is? Or at least if you think it is?"

"If I can be absolutely certain that she is coercing you, then it is my responsibility to make sure that she stops doing so. I do apologize in advance if it comes to that, but I will not stand for you to be manipulated, Edward."

"You would take away our only chance at heaven. You would damn us all." I crouched, my vision angrily hazing over with red as I prepared to rip Carlisle to shreds if need be to protect my precious salvation. Nothing was going to stand in my way.

_No, Edward, I would never do that. But heaven must be chosen by one's free will. No one can force you there. I will stop Aria if she is using compulsory means. _

"I will not let you do this! I will drag Rosalie to her if that is what I have to do to protect Aria!"

"Leave Rosalie out of this!" Carlisle barked back, fiercely protective of his new "daughter". _I will not let her be wrapped up in something that is potentially very unsafe. Until I can say for certain that there are no mental or emotional compulsions being introduced by Aria's enchantments, I do not want Rosalie to receive them. They could be dangerous, Edward. _

But I was already halfway up the stairs before Carlisle's thoughts were finished, ready to make good on my threat, and carry Rosalie off to meet Aria, and demand that Aria put the spell on her—maybe then Rosalie would have some proper remorse injected into her. Maybe then, Carlisle would finally understand the blessing it would be for all of us to drink the blood of animals together.

I was so single-minded in this pursuit, that I never gave one thought to the fact that I might fail in my quest.

Nor did I ever think that no matter how many times I attempted to convince her to receive the spell willingly that each time our verbal arguments would inevitably spiral out of control into a physical fight that I could never win.

…

The bright yellow rays of the sun were flickering intermittently through the pale blue curtains of Carlisle's study as he carefully reached down to lift another fragment of my neck off of his polished desk, which was littered with all sort of tiny pieces of my diamond-hard flesh, before lifting it gently to his mouth, coating it in his venom, and pressing it back into the place where it belonged. Although my body was mostly reassembled at this point, there were still a few little pieces here and there which Carlisle had to fit back onto my body like a morbid jigsaw puzzle, since I had been furiously ripped to shreds by a vampire much more powerful than myself only a few hours before. My legs and torso were entirely fixed now, and sheathed in a comfortable pair of dark jeans, but I remained shirtless to more easily allow Carlisle to fill the little holes which riddled my arms, shoulders, neck and face. As he positioned the venom-coated piece back into place and held it against my throat for a moment before it began to reattach to the skin surrounding it and no longer required his hand's support, Carlisle's expression switched from one of medical concentration, to one of fatherly reproach.

_Here it comes, _I thought, preparing for the mental and verbal onslaught that was sure to come.

"Edward. What did Rosalie do this time?" _I really wish you would not try to start pointless fights, _he pleaded with me as he deftly reached around the table for another fragment—this one a large chunk of my cheek—and repeated the same disgusting process of drooling his venom all over it, and sticking it back into the perfectly-shaped hole, where it seamlessly reconnected with the fibers around it. _I would intervene, but then I would probably get torn apart as well, and I cannot guarantee that Esme would be able to reassemble me properly if I was dashed to this many pieces. _

"You would not understand," I barked harshly, upset that Carlisle did not, and probably never would totally understand my motivations for repeatedly arguing with Rosalie about her dietary choices. "Obviously your pet daughter is more important to you than me."

A look of extreme hurt shadowed over Carlisle. "And why do you say that?" _Edward, I love you both equally. My relationship with you may be different, but it is not worth any less to me, if anything it is worth more, because I have known you longer. Rosalie is still so new…_

"You let her get away with murder. _Literally,_" I droned caustically, staring deeply into Carlisle's eyes with a seething emotion shining behind my own, as Carlisle settled another finger-sized fragment of flesh against my collarbone and patiently waited for the venom he had coated it in to sink into the underlying tissues and stimulate the cells to re-join.

"If you chose to return to that lifestyle, I would not protest it either, so it is hardly as though I am being unfair," he related prudently as he carefully twisted my left upper arm to examine the quarter-sized hollow space in my skin, which exposed the muscles and venomous channels beneath, inclining his head slightly to the side to memorize the jagged shape, before he attempted to discern which piece would fill it among the shrinking pile of flesh fragments on his desk. After lifting a few of the ashen, glittering shards into the sunlight drifting lazily in through the window and giving them a closer look, he selected the one which looked most like it would fit into the hole he had scrutinized earlier, spat a sticky glob of venom upon it, and moved to stick it in place.

"How can you do that? How can you be so apathetic about this?" I shrieked, the volume startling him and causing him to step away from me before the fragment he was holding had completely reattached, so that it dropped with a dull thud against the carpet instead of sticking to my arm. Carlisle gave me a dark look for interrupting his work before gingerly bending to pick up the piece that had fallen.

_Edward, I am not apathetic. You know this. I may appear to by apathetic on the outside but…_

Carlisle abruptly straightened once he had seized the fragment off of the thick carpet and spoke the remainder of his thought aloud as he got back to work on reassembling me: "Every time Rosalie goes to hunt I am saddened by the loss I know that is occurring," _I imagine the faces of the men and women she kills to eat every single time she announces her intention to hunt and it wounds me to the very core to see that. _"But I also am gladdened that she is healthy," _Her strength and vibrant glowing skin… I wish that all of us could have that._ "The rest of us are not," he declared with a sorrowful, conflicted expression, simultaneously perturbed by Rosalie's human slaughter and distressed by the ill-effects that unsatisfied thirst had on the rest of us. _If there was a way that we could have both…_

But Carlisle shook away the thought before it was fully formed. _That is why I am still laboring to make a substitute whenever I have a spare moment. Hopefully eventually, when our scientific knowledge of human blood is advanced enough, we will not have to sacrifice one's suffering to end another's. _"However, I do not regret the sacrifices of health I make to protect human life," he clarified vocally, so that I could make no mistake about his feelings on the matter. "But it is not my right to force a sacrifice like that on anyone." Images of Carlisle's experiments in Volterra, and the tortured expressions on the newborn's faces, especially Vera's flashed before my eyes once again. "I did that before, Edward," Carlisle recalled lamentingly, "…and I grieve every day for the pain I caused those men and women in my experiments. It was highly unethical of me to do something like that."

I frowned—_he should not pity those wrathful, remorseless devils._ "Carmen seems to be grateful, at least," I pointed out instead, to divert his attention toward the one who had been inspired to find Tanya, Irina, Kate and Aria in order to perpetuate and make sustainable her livelihood on the blood of beasts.

"And that makes me very happy," Carlisle admitted with a tiny smile. _Though I am somewhat concerned for her at the moment._ "But she volunteered," he added with a tone of severity as he lightly fingered another hole on my person, a tiny fingernail-sized chunk missing from the bridge of my nose, before thoughtfully rifling through the pieces he had gathered on the oaken surface of his desk for one small enough to fit precisely into the infinitesimal gap. "I did not compel her to live on the blood of beasts against her will. She chose to follow the diet on her own, even after the experiment was disbanded," he reminded me sternly as he fished out the piece he was looking for and pressed it into place with a little more force than strictly necessary, causing me to wince slightly as the piece rubbed painfully against the raw nerve endings underneath.

"Would you force Rosalie, if you thought it would save her soul?" I interrogated punitively, giving Carlisle pause for a few seconds as he genuinely considered my question.

"Edward. That is what I thought I was doing with the test subjects." His voice was cold and chastising to match the accusatory tenor of mine. _I already made the mistake of trying something like that. Please learn from my mistakes and do not attempt to do the same thing with Rosalie._ "I already explained to you why I no longer hold those convictions," he continued exasperatedly. _And if you cannot bring yourself to believe as I do, at least respect that Rosalie's soul is her own, to save or throw away as she will. You may express your opinion to her, and I have already expressed mine, but I will tolerate no compulsion or coercion in this household. That goes against the free will that God has given us. _

_Like free will really matters when something that big is at stake_, I thought morosely to myself. "You really are going to let her keep killing, if that is what she wants." It was an angry declaration, not a question, because I already knew what Carlisle was going to say.

"As long as she continues to abide by the rules we have established in this house about human-drinking, then I will not stop her," he elucidated softly, just as I had expected, pressing the last piece of my skin into place and stepping back to survey his work to make sure he had not missed a spot before tossing me a button-up shirt. "You really should not try to either. It is… disheartening that I have to put you back together so frequently," he admitted sadly as I caught the shirt easily in my fist and shrugged it hastily over my shoulders before I began rapidly closing up the frontal buttons.

"And yet she gets to bring home a bleeding human without any consequences?" I asked with a look of disbelieving disgust. "I thought that was against the rules."

"Emmett was not food," Carlisle sternly replied, crossing his arms forbiddingly over his chest in displeasure. "Rosalie carried him all the way from Tennessee back here for me to transform him. Could I really say no after she carried him over a hundred miles, all the while resisting her thirst even as he bled in front of her?"

""Yes!" I answered immediately with firm conviction. "Cursing him like this…" I shook my head self-loathingly and dug my fingers hatefully into the front of my recently buttoned shirt. "You should have let him pass into the next world. At least while he still had a chance."

"Edward, we have rehashed our varying opinions on this matter ad nauseam. I would really appreciate it if you would not fight with Rosalie and Emmett about their diets anymore," Carlisle expressed chillily, with a resigned sigh, dropping his arms at his sides in defeat.

"If it is so annoying, then why don't you just stop putting me back together? Just light me on fire and be done with me!" I offered bitingly with my fully-restored arms spread wide in a "strike me down if you dare" pose.

"Edward! How can you say such a thing?" Carlisle asked with sharp concern. _Has the spell really made his self-loathing this severe? _"Do you want to die?"

His comment stunned me for a moment, and I stopped to genuinely consider the prospect.

I knew that my greatest fear at the moment was the possibility of damning myself through mortal murder, rather than my own demise, but could I honestly say with full sincerity of heart that I would rather perish than drink human blood? Because I had slipped up several times since I began worry for my soul and showed no signs of ever entirely ceasing from murder, and yet I was still standing. _Do I really want to die, or am I simply deluding myself into believing that suicide would be a more noble cause? I am not a hypocrite, so I had better decide what I want. Either I can put up with the occasional human dying, or I cannot stand it, and therefore must destroy myself to rid this world of my incurable evil, because no matter how hard I try, it seems I am destined to eventually kill again._

As I pondered my limited options with great distress, suddenly a crushing, rotten feeling blossomed out of nowhere, oozed into every ventricle of my heart and seeped deep into my bones at the idea of having another mortal death on my hands, which ended up being the deciding factor.

_I cannot live with myself if I cause any more deaths,_ I realized morosely.

_Therefore in order to prevent that, I must die._


	18. Chapter 17: Terminal Desire

**AN: If Edward's logic seems hasty, or inconsistent these last few chapters, that is completely intentional and not simply bad writing on my part. Since Aria repressed his physical pain of thirst, he's become extremely emotionally distraught, constantly on the brink of starvation without Carlisle's self-memory modification to sooth his mind, and brain-addled by the spell, all of which interfere greatly with rational thinking. So he's all out of sorts. And I think that is coming through. ;)**

**For those of you eager to get back to the present, I promise this is the LAST chapter from Edward's perspective. Sorry if it seems draggy, this is my first fanfiction, so I am still learning. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: Terminal Desire<strong>

It was several days later that I decided to make good on my oath to end my existence, for although I was completely petrified with terror at the idea of possibly being sent to Hell despite all my best efforts, I believed that it was the most noble thing to do, in order to prevent more human deaths, and I prayed for the first time since my transformation that my sacrifice would not be in vain—that whoever was in charge of determining my fate in the world to come would take into account the intentions behind what I was about to do. That they would recognize that I was selflessly forfeiting my life to prevent taking any more lives in the future, and not merely selfishly ending my pain.

It was true that every time I saw or smelt the forbidden dark red ambrosia that was human blood, my skin trembled and ached with the desire to drink it—and each time my body reacted this way, I was enveloped in an exquisite agony of both body and spirit, but that was not ultimately what had spurned this important decision. Neither had the complete submersion in the all-too-familiar mire of rotten guilt for my unforgiveable weakness which smothered my whole being whenever my mouth pooled with venom, nor the sensation of being buried beneath the intolerable weight of crushing despair. No, I had a much worthier cause—at least that is what I repeatedly reassured myself.

And if I turned out to be damned regardless, it hardly mattered anyway.

I knew that death was not easily obtained as a vampire, and certainly would not be a pleasant experience, but I was single-mindedly determined to realize my fatal desire—to utterly destroy the despicable monster I had become from off of the face of the earth.

I had tried for eight years to redeem myself by finally completely overcoming my thirst, but since I had shown almost no progress towards my burning desire to never kill another human again (making an incurable habit of 'slipping up' every one or two years) death was the only option I saw left for myself.

Knowing of Carlisle's earlier unsuccessful attempts to self-terminate, and from the few blurry images I had seen in his mind of the execution methods that the Volturi used, I already was well aware that fire would be most likely to supply the devastation I wanted, and had been secretively making my preparations for several weeks. Thankfully it was not too difficult to assemble everything I needed to carry out my self-extinguishing ends, as the only equipment this method necessitated—a lighter and some lighter fluid—were already innocently lying around the house, but I wanted to make absolutely sure that none of the others were aware in the slightest of my plan until it was already completely carried out, because I knew that if Carlisle and Esme were to ever discover my suicidal intentions that they, in their horribly misguided compassion, would totally obstruct me from ever reaching my goal. For although Carlisle could empathize with my feelings, because his first act as a vampire was to hatefully cast himself off the highest cliff he could find, hoping to be dashed to smithereens against the jagged rocks below, with his centuries-warped perspectives, and his recent, unreasonable fears that I was being mentally and emotionally manipulated by Aria's spell, he would not accept my sacrifice.

So once I had finished making my preparations, I simply bided my time for a few months, searching patiently for the perfect opportunity to carry out my self-destroying scheme, knowing that I would likely only ever get one good shot at this and not wanting to royally screw it up.

But today I was tired of waiting, and since Rosalie and Emmett were out hunting humans in another state, Esme was busy drafting designs for our new house, since we were planning on leaving the area soon to avoid the suspicion of the locals, who were beginning to marvel at the fact that none of us appeared to have aged a single day since our arrival, and Carlisle was away at work, I figured I would never get a better opportunity.

I thought about doing the horribly clichéd thing and leaving a suicide note to explain to Esme why I was doing this, because I knew that when she and her mate at last found the smoldering pile of ash that would be all that was left of me when my benevolent deeds were accomplished here, she might somehow construe an impossible situation in her mind where the blame for my death landed on her, and that notion wounded me to the very core. But ultimately I understood that if I left a note so clearly announcing my intent to die that she might happen upon it too soon, and rush into the forest to try and stop me in my attempt. And I could not let that happen—so I simply had to hope that the extremely subtle hints I had dropped over the course of the past couple weeks would be sufficient to explain my reasons—that I loathed the immortal fiend I had become; that the savage thirst I displayed even with Aria's spell had proved to me that my true nature was a monster, and I could not live with myself knowing that I might hurt more people because of that.

I had not said as much so plainly of course, but I had hinted that I hated having such devilish natural desires and release from them would bring me nothing but the greatest solace; a declaration vague enough to leave her unaware, but which would stick out firmly in her recollection as she scrounged her memories for the reasons why I had ended my earthly existence.

I was not worried about the others: Emmett barely knew me, as he and Rosalie had spent the vast majority of their time together smashing the houses Esme put together for them in the midst of passionate lovemaking, or defending Rosalie against my insults, so he would likely not be all that torn up by my absence. Carlisle would be immensely hurt, but his centuries of witnessing countless deaths had made him strong and thus he would eventually get over it. And Rosalie, like her mate, would probably not care that I was gone either, which actually sat surprisingly well with me, for although our relationship had improved somewhat, and we now harbored an almost sibling-like rivalry, rather than a legitimate desire to tear out each other's throats, the idea that her merciless crimson eyes would gloss-over with venom upon hearing of my demise seemed fundamentally wrong somehow. Esme's eyes of gilded compassion I could definitely envision that way, and even Carlisle's, but for Rosalie to be brought to the vampire equivalent of tears because her annoying little brother was finally wiped off the face of the planet ought to be against the laws of the universe.

Making sure that I opened and shut the front door to our reclusive home as gently and silently as possible, so that Esme, who was upstairs would not be alerted to my departure, I padded quietly into the copse of trees which totally encircled our home. Once I had reached a sufficient distance, I broke into an inhumanly fast dash, and sprinted deep into the lush heart of the forest in fervent search of firewood to build myself a funeral pyre. When I was secure in the knowledge that I was satisfactorily distant from the soon-to-be-abandoned house so as to not be found before I was finished bringing death upon myself, I set about clearing a patch of dirt in which to create a suitable fire pit. Making sure that there was no grass which might serve as a catalyst for unintentionally starting a forest fire in the area I wished to erect my self-immolating pile, I hefted a number of large stones to encircle the area with a radius of about five feet.

Pleased with the apparent sturdiness and safety (for everything outside the fire pit, of course) of the arrangement, I raced off to gather as many fallen twigs and branches as I could find to fuel the fire I sought to create, and effortlessly snapped a few mossy fallen logs over my legs to produce even more. And when I had finally amassed what I supposed was a large enough bundle, I carefully stepped into the fire pit with the enormous pile of wood.

Working as quickly and intelligently as I could, fearful that Esme might decide to look for me if I remained absent too long, I assembled the recently collected timber and kindling around me in a rough circle, placing the beams of wood in the pattern that would facilitate the best upward air flow. Popping open the can of lighter fluid that I had once used to light drained human bodies on fire, I doused the wood in it. After the wood was well and thoroughly coated, I slowly stepped into the center of the pile and poured the remainder of the liquid over my own body, until my clothes were completely saturated with it, and it dripped stickily off my skin. Then, reaching into my back jeans pocket, I drew out a lighter, and took a deep breath.

_This was it,_ I thought.

If I did this, there was no going back.

I flicked open the lighter and after a moment's hesitation I tossed it carelessly into the pile below me, which immediately caught fire. Walls of white-hot flames shot up around me almost immediately, and within seconds the entire collection of wood, and the clothes I wore became enveloped in the raging bonfire, which licked quickly away at the fuel I had provided, and started to burn viciously my skin. The pain I felt as the fire began to singe my flesh was excruciating, and I could not restrain the bloodcurdling howl of agony that ripped through my throat, but I did not dare move out of the fire I had made for myself—that would defeat the purpose of all of this. Instead, I simply gritted my teeth and tightly shut my eyes, waiting for the blazing flames to at last consume me.

I felt morbidly gratified as the layers of my impenetrable skin gradually began blackening and burning away one by one, in some places quicker than others, but I hated how slow the process was. The fact that I lacked the need to breathe would not allow me to miss any of the exquisite agony of my flesh burning by passing out from suffocation as the thick black smoke billowed around me was disheartening, but as I smoldered away slowly I realized that there was one way to lessen it at least.

Sinking my sharp teeth deeply into the flesh of my right upper arm, I sliced easily and mercilessly through my own heavily damaged skin, and twisted the appendage sharply with my other arm, until it snapped free, with a horrible crunching sound like breaking ice, and fell twitchingly into the flames. Although for a few moments the pain was excruciating, now that the nerve endings were severed from my brain, the pain was somewhat less intense. I was still screaming torturedly, despite the fact that the smoke had charred my yowling throat raw, because of the intensity of the hurt, but the volume was not nearly as loud as it had been before.

Eager to cut off more of my nerve endings to lessen the pain, I set about using my teeth and remaining arm to detach both of my legs, causing me to topple helplessly backward into the bonfire, before finally angrily chewing through the other arm and spitting it loathingly out of my mouth to be lost amid the morbidly dancing flames. Limbless, and with vocal chords so badly scorched that all I could manage was a gasping, dry gurgle, I laid back and closed my eyes waiting impatiently for the last scraps of remaining skin and subcutaneous fat to burn away, once again wishing that the thick black smoke billowing around me could asphyxiate me, so that I would not have to wait until my body was completely reduced to ash to finally find death.

_I should have built a hotter fire so that this would happen faster,_ I thought, as my raw muscles and bones caught flame in some places, and my flopping limbs fell away to ash, but I was not given much longer to ponder how I might have done this as, above the roar of the flames around me, I heard panicked voices approaching, and two people's frantic thoughts arrested my telepathic senses at the same time.

The first was a man's voice, urgent and ragged with desperate worry, but authoritative and level-headed sounding. "Esme, I think he went this way, the smoke…!" _Oh please lord let us not be too late. _"Hurry!"

The second was a woman's, higher-pitched and on the brink of hysterical. "I see him! Over there!" _Oh my heavens… he's made himself a bonfire! Edward! _"Carlisle you have got so save him!"

"I do not know if I can… he is already so far gone…" the man rationalized as he swiftly drew closer to where I lied, sizzling on the brink of death.

"Just get him out of the fire!" the woman screamed in horror. "Now, Carlisle!"

I tried to protest, to tell them I wanted to die, but before I could choke any horrid sound of my scorched throat, two strong arms hastily reached through the flames, circled around what was left of me (mostly just a blackened and raw torso and head) before quickly pulling me out of the bonfire and rolling with me against the ground to smother the flames which still clung to my skin. As we tossed dizzyingly in the grass, I heard a trickling of water as Esme slowly put out the fire, and I cursed inwardly that my plans had been foiled when I was so close to achieving my desire.

And to what end? I did not fully understand the extent of our natural healing abilities, but Carlisle had told me that at the very least my limbs would not grow back, and I highly doubted that my destroyed muscles and skin would come back very easily either, if they grew back at all. Now I was not only cursed to live as a monster, but as a barely living, blackened stub of a person who probably would be unable to even feed myself, and would likely live out the rest of my days in intolerable agony, if the exposed nerve endings stinging sharply against the fibers of Carlisle's soft shirt were any indication.

Perhaps I could convince Carlisle that it was better for him to simply put me out of my misery himself, once he realized that there was no way to restore me to a comfortable existence—that was my only hope.

But as the man tenderly cradled my half-vampire, half-ash person to his, his thoughts whirling with every feasible method to restore as much of my body and comfort as possible, I felt his unwavering determination to come up with something—no matter how arduous or dangerous, which might save me both from death and a life of endless torment. I still clung onto the confidence that eventually he would be forced to realize he had stepped in to salvage my body from the flames too late, and would compassionately hasten my passing himself, or even simply let me starve to death—nothing could save me now.

I was as good as dead anyway.

At least that is what any logical person would think, until Carlisle's mind conjured up a picture of a shapely, young immortal female with short choppy brown hair, and obsidian black eyes—one of his test subjects from his time in Italy—who had been able to restore the entire arm of an angry white-haired vampire, which had been lost a thousand years earlier to a fearsome supernatural beast.

Vera, I learned was her name, and although her powers took quite a toll on her system, requiring her to drink human blood, and copious amounts of it whenever she performed healings on extensive injuries, she was likely the only person in the world who could do something about the terrible state I was in. And just as quickly as the paralyzing knowledge of the existence of a vampire with such a power emerged, Carlisle decided immediately that he would contact the Volturi and beg them to allow him usage of her powers to save me.

I wanted to scream at him that I wanted to die, but my neck had been badly burned, making it impossible to speak, so instead I decided to use what vestiges of muscle tissue I had left and thrash wildly in rejection of his attempts to save me. But instead of letting go, even when he began to understand that I was twitching in rebellion and not in pain, Carlisle's grip only tightened. _Edward please, I am only trying to help! This is not like you! Think of Esme… she would hate to lose you._

Through Carlisle's mind's eye I looked up into the shining eyes of his mate, who choked out a dry sob as her loving gold eyes looked over my hideously burnt body, and I suddenly wished that I could look away. I could not bear to see her like this.

"Esme, telephone Aro, and tell him what has happened," Carlisle instructed with surprising cool, despite the urgency of the situation. "Tell him to send Vera if he is willing. Or allow me to take Edward there, whichever he prefers. Tell him I swear on my life not to touch him or any of the members of his guard—if I attempt it, they may exterminate me—and that this is an absolute emergency."

Carlisle watched Esme nod curtly in understanding and dash back to the house to do just that—all of which I saw through my telepathic gift—but he stayed with me, cradling my singed, hairless head as carefully as possible to avert causing any avoidable pain and peeling away the last remnants of my scorched clothing where they stuck greasily to my body in preparation for Vera's arrival.

_Please Edward. Find the will to live, _he pleaded with me in his thoughts. _If there is anything even remotely worth existing for, cling onto that with everything you have. Vera will be here shortly to restore you. _

I laid my head back into Carlisle's palms and inwardly sighed.

I had failed.

…

Vera arrived on the scene several hours later, in the company of Felix, Jane, Alec and several lesser guard members whom Carlisle did not recognize, and could not ascertain much about, as their faces were completely obscured in the shadow of the hoods of their black cloaks, but who all appeared to be of exceptional muscular build. Presumably, these bulky vampires were acting as bodyguards to ensure that Aro's most valuable assets were well protected, which certainly included the miraculously powered female sent to save me. It was rare that Vera ever left the castle, since her powers were limited in that she could not heal injuries on herself, and the Volturi could not afford to lose her, but as an extremely generous favor to an old friend, Aro had permitted her to come, so long as Carlisle and his mate agreed to keep their distance from her. Any sudden movements in her direction would be interpreted as a threat and would be neutralized accordingly.

At least that was what I had gathered from the sparse vocal conversation, and thoughts of everyone congregated nervously outside of the room I lied in, but what unnerved me the most about this situation was not the presence of eight unfamiliar, human-drinking, battle-trained vampires in such close proximity to my person—if they wanted to kill me, I would gladly welcome it. No, what was far more upsetting was the fact that aside from the vampires, I also detected the presence of three plainly dressed humans, bound tightly in thick ropes, and gagged with cloths to prevent their terrified screams from becoming a nuisance, which shivered fearfully among their undead captors, whom I was mortified to discover would be fed to Vera once she exhausted her energies saving myself.

It upset me that Carlisle saw saving my life to be worth the deaths of these three crying, shaking mortals who twitched inconsolably in Felix's grasp and seemed to have a pretty good idea of what their fate was, as they had heard the bone-chilling screams of many others whom had been fed to the Volturi, but although Carlisle cast a hopelessly sad look in their direction, he put them out of his mind as quickly as he could, accepting the sacrifice it was going to take to save me. The notion that the gentle doctor was vastly uncomfortable with, but grudgingly accepting of this grim reality made me want to scream wrathfully that I wanted to die for this very reason, to prevent more human deaths done in my name. But although I twitched relentlessly on the stale cot and managed to make a disgusting wet coughing sound in protest, Carlisle refused to listen to me. His thoughts revealed that he believed Aria to be responsible for my bitter self-loathing, and since I was being manipulated by her, he would not take my terminal desire seriously. Instead he was planning on killing her to release me and the others from her manipulations as soon as he could inform Eleazar of what had happened.

Apparently my suicide attempt was conclusive enough evidence of foul play.

Again, I wanted to passionately declare that the witch had nothing to do with how I felt—that although she was the one who had introduced me to the ideas which had spurned my fatal longing, she was not responsible for making me feel guilty for the crimes I had committed. I was fairly certain I had managed that all on my own. But as Vera circled closer, flickering her scrutinizing scarlet eyes over my clotheless, blackened stub of a body, I felt the words—or at least my best attempt at them—dying on my lips as more of Carlisle's thoughts manifested themselves in his mind.

_I should have been more watchful of you, Edward. This pain, these deaths... they are all my fault. If I had only noticed your pain sooner, I could have intervened before something this severe was required to save you._ Images of the Volturi throne room and five completely drained human bodies surrounding Aro and Carlisle flickered vividly through my telepathic vision before he continued: I_ think I am beginning to understand how Aro must have felt when I nearly killed myself in neglect... why he did what he did to save me,_ he reasoned mentally._ Perhaps it is unforgivably selfish of me, but if they must die to save you..._ the poor, quivering humans were conjured up in his mind for a few brief seconds before they faded sharply into black._ I suppose that I can live with that. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, as I forgave Aro. I... cannot bear to lose another friend._

_No Carlisle, I cannot forgive you. Please do not do this! _I tried to communicate by willpower alone, since my injuries rendered me mute, but of course my pitiful attempt at thought-projection was completely in vain, and as Vera, whose hair was much longer hair than in Carlisle's memories, falling past her knees instead of choppily to her ears, settled into a comfortable stance at my bedside.

"Carlisle, I have never attempted a healing of this magnitude before," the woman breathed, her voice hesitant and somewhat wary. _Could it be possible to drain so much of my power in trying to save him that I perish? _she worried, before deciding if it came to that she would merely pull away when she began to feel faint. "If it is at all possible to restore him completely, I will be needing much more than the paltry snack Felix brought for me," she informed Carlisle matter-of-factly. "This is your territory, so in accordance with tradition I ask for the permission of the coven leader to hunt in the area when I am finished here." _I may still harbor a grudge with you for those months I spent under your wretched experiment, but as a representative of the Volturi it simply would not do to ignore the proper etiquette in these situations. Especially not when dealing with a man with such a dangerous power. _

Carlisle nodded his somewhat reluctant assent from the other side of the room. "May I make one stipulation?" he requested cordially, with the slightest downward inclination of his head. _Please agree to my conditions, Vera. My family has established peace in the area and I would hate to catalyze a war. _

Vera looked at him quizzically, not missing the infinitesimal humble gesture and finding it wildly out of place—Carlisle was in charge in these lands, not her. "You may make any stipulations you like, since this territory is yours. Of course, if I break them, it is up to you and your covenmates to punish me," she reminded him, which both of them knew would not go over very well with her increased strength. _I could easily physically defy you, but I do not want to if I do not have to, so choose your stipulation wisely, Carlisle. _

Carlisle gave another short nod, understanding Vera's unspoken declaration to do as she pleased if she felt that Carlisle's restrictions were too ridiculous since he would be utterly unable to actually punish her in the event that she transgressed them, especially with her guard to protect her. "I only ask that you refrain from hunting in the immediate area," he entreated carefully, folding his hands neutrally in front of his heart. _Aro would not appreciate it if my friends on the reservation killed you to protect the humans in that area. He is displaying an unusual amount of trust even allowing you to be here. _"Our coven appreciates a low profile and we have made a treaty with the supernatural community to not feed from humans in this town. I would suggest you go to Seattle, or Port Angeles if you must obtain further nourishment," he continued impassively to explain his reasoning, hoping that the additional information would further convince Vera to make this small concession, and not risk disturbing the peace which kept the humans unaware.

"A treaty? With the witches?" Vera enquired, with a suspicious curiosity burning in her scarlet eyes. _I do not trust their kind._

"A witch is part of this, but most of those we negotiate with are not witches, precisely," Carlisle offered honestly with a wavering hand to suggest that her hasty assumption was partially correct, but that there was slightly more to the story. "The concept is similar—they are humans who have inherited latent powers that are triggered in the presence of vampires, but their magic is different." _They shapeshift into wolves, instead of use spells, but if I were to tell you that, you might assume that I have a pact with the Children of the Moon—which is a crime under Volturi law. They are completely different from those vile creatures, but it is easier if I simply do not mention it. _

"Curious," Vera responded flatly, without any actual interest, instead her eyes were completely affixed on my charred, limbless form and her mind was churning with preparations for the incredible exhaustion that was sure to overcome her when she was finished giving her best attempt at healing me. "I am certain that Aro will want to know more about it. But we will not infringe on your treaty. I can see that it is important to you, and it is our custom to honor all pacts, as long as they are not made with Children of the Moon, of course."

"...Yes, of course," Carlisle agreed with only the slightest hesitance at the mention of the terrifying beasts which the Volturi would be sure to confuse with the comparatively harmless Quileute shapeshifters.

Noticing his extremely slight sign of trepidation at the mention of the Volturi's mortal enemy, Aria gave Carlisle a scrutinizing look, before she decided it to be a coincidence and suddenly tuned back to where I lied against the padded, white-sheeted hospital table Carlisle had set up in the basement. "This may hurt a bit," she warned coldly before her delicate hand reached out and pressed against the raw, scorched muscles of my face.

I was about to attempt to hack out a dark chuckle—'this might hurt a bit' was what everyone said when whatever they were going to do was actually going to be ridiculously painful. But I had no idea just how true that was, until my lethargic mind processed the sensation of her fingertips brushing against my corroded flesh, and a piercing yowl of agony cut through the misty air, which probably be heard from miles away.

…

It was a miracle—I was whole again.

Somehow, Vera had managed not only to restore all four of my limbs, but all the lost skin, muscle, nerves and even hair that had been consumed by the flames in the forest. I did not understand it, and I was certainly not grateful—in fact I was completely livid with my continued survival—but I was in stupefied awe nonetheless. The power that this former test subject of Carlisle's had exhibited was so incredible, and so immense I might have said it trespassed into the realm of the divine, if it did not sap so much of her strength when she utilized it.

But because her talent did have terrible side-effects, when the skin-splitting agony her gift caused as it wrought its ought-to-be-impossible magic finally ceased, and I blinked open my weary eyes, I watched in stunned silence as Vera nearly collapsed from the effort of saving me, her eyes having turned a bottomless, inky black and her skin now a disturbing shade of green as she staggered back unsteadily from me. Before she could topple to the hard cement basement floor, however, two of the nameless guards rushed to her side and swiftly caught her in their thick, powerful arms.

Without a word, Felix suddenly yanked one of the hapless humans into his arms, who let out a muffled shriek before he gave their head a jarringly sharp twist, snapping their spinal cord instantly before Esme or I could make any sort of protest, and carried the limp form across his broad muscular arms over to Vera. The other two humans still alive cringed in horrified response to the heartless violence which had just occurred and started to sob, earning a sympathetic look from Esme, before her eyes switched back over to Vera as Felix presented her with her first meal.

Apparently somewhat lightheaded from her recent expenditure of energy, Vera's head tilted circularly in vertigo for a second, before she savagely twisted it downwards and bit deep into the neck of the human held out for her in Felix's arms, eagerly sucking up the delicious smelling red blood she found beneath the skin. I felt sick as her pleased, predatory thoughts washed over me, and I felt her remorseless satisfaction, but although I could physically look away if I wished, there was nothing I could do to stop the telepathic onslaught. I wanted to run away in order to escape my proximally activated powers, but Jane, who was standing protectively near the door was giving me a cold look which suggested that if I tried to do such a thing, she might use her powers on me—which I knew from her thoughts would result in me not going anywhere, but rather crumpling to the ground in paralyzed agony.

For a split-second, I thought about aggravating her as a second attempt at suicide, but quickly realizing that Carlisle would likely try to intervene, and be punished for his sudden movements towards the door as well, and having no desire to unwittingly instigate the death of my gentle-hearted mentor, nor leave Esme an inconsolable widow, I decided against it.

So instead I simply averted my gaze, as did Carlisle and Esme, as Vera eagerly consumed her three-course meal.

When she was finally done draining all of their blood, she straightened, with dark burgundy eyes, handed the corpses back to Felix with the unspoken command to dispose of them, and set off into the distance, with the four nameless guards, presumably in search of additional people to eat. As her dark shape and luscious chocolaty hair rapidly vanished from sight, I morbidly wondered how many others she might murder today in order to fully restore her strength, and a noxious, sticky shame accumulated in the base of my heart as I reasoned that the blame for those deaths lied squarely in my hands for failing to completely carry through my suicide attempt. If I had died today, as I should have, those humans would have lived.

If I had died, Carlisle and Esme would not be exchanging remorseful glances, and sadly averting their eyes, knowing what Vera was going to do.

If I had died, Vera would not have become so thirsty from healing me that she would be compelled to kill so copiously.

If I had died, her victims in the city would not be forced to never see their loved ones ever again.

If I had died, I would have saved everyone else who perished today.

But I had not died, and had instead caused so much pain.

I was a monster.

After a few moments of terse silence and nervous looks, Felix dashed after Vera up the creaky basement stairs, out the wooden door and over the hilly horizon, moving with such potent force and unmatchable swiftness that even to my perceptive eyes he merely appeared as a fuzzy, bulky black shape disappearing into the abundant greenery. As her appointed personal bodyguard it was imperative that he keep an eye on her at all times, and so it seemed, from his disgustingly dutiful thoughts, that he would effectively be babysitting the savage woman as she went on her power-replenishing killing spree. I was thankful to see that he would not be joining her in the feeding frenzy, for he had already satisfied his thirst a few days ago in the throne room with Heidi's recent 'batch' of hapless tourists. But his last thought before his mind speedily slipped past the range of my powers was that he needed to make sure Vera kept her head together as she hunted—for apparently it was very easy for her to get rather carried away in the throes of thirst, and slaughter humans out in the open, necessitating the deaths of all the witnesses as well.

I fumed at the thought that Vera would be so careless as to not only kill for food, but to cause wasteful deaths as a result of her famished apathy, but just as I was thinking of racing after the callous, ravenous woman vampire in order to make a futile attempt to tear her head off before she endangered all the inhabitants of Seattle, I became distracted with the slight sound of rustling fabric as the others moved to leave, and the fearful thoughts of the twins as they slowly drew back from Carlisle, drifting gracefully over the smooth, cool floor, penetrated my mind.

Although they put on a good front with their impassive facial masks, inwardly they were absolutely, run-and-cry-to-their-mother terrified of Carlisle and his powers—which stunned me. I knew that his gift could be unintentionally scary, since it could make you question everything you thought to be reality, but they, and the other Volturi displayed much greater caution and fear than I would have expected from the coven who ruled the supernatural world with an iron fist.

_I am not letting you out of my sight, Carlisle,_ Jane thought as she floated elegantly away from us._ I know that Aro says you have about as much killing intent as a wet sock, but I refuse to be the fool who underestimates you and loses everything because of it. I know what you are capable of if you believe yourself to be under duress... _Jane thought coldly, and an old image surfaced in her mind of Carlisle in Volterra fearfully pushing away an foolishly attacking vampire, who immediately crumpled to his knees and released a throat-splitting scream as soon as Carlisle's pale hand touched his skin, before rolling to the ground, shaking violently and drooling wildly in psychological pain. _...and I have absolutely no desire to sacrifice my memories and my sanity to the likes of you. Master would not appreciate that. _

Knowing that he could do that, I did not want him anywhere near me either.

To be able to cause such intense mental scarring to make someone howl like that—I could not imagine anything scarier.

But when Alec's thoughts broke into my mind, my terror only increased: _Master says that he has the power of memory manipulation, that all of the five senses in all of your memories he can tamper with using only a single touch, meaning that he could make me remember anything differently if he wanted to. But Master says that his most potent weapon is the power to make people forget. __Although there is nothing he can do about the emotional responses in the memories, Master says that he can wipe entire years worth of sensory experiences from one's mind, or even all of the experiences you have ever had from your mind, leaving nothing but a jumbled collection of emotions, feelings completely without context and the jarring memory of his mind-altering touch. _

I wanted to gasp, but I choked it back down so that Alec would not break his stream of thought—_Carlisle could delete whole years worth of memories from your mind? Or even delete every thought you had ever had, except for the memory of his_ _touch_? _Had he ever done something like that?_ I wondered with horror. _Was that why he had been kicked out of Volterra with the explicit command to never return or else he would be seen as a threat and exterminated on sight?_

It certainly would make sense—but the notion that the completely humane, benevolent vampire around whom I had always felt extremely safe could wipe my mind entirely on a whim and leave me a drooling, amnesiatic mess, with no past except for the memory of his touch and every emotion I had ever felt in my whole life crammed into an empty nothingness mortified me beyond all comprehension. Logically, there was absolutely no reason for Carlisle to ever do such a thing to me on purpose, but it unnerved me that it seemed, from Jane's thoughts that Carlisle had only ever done this on accident, when he felt greatly pressured to make someone forget and did not have the time to think up a convincing replacement.

In other words, Carlisle wiped people's memories in self-defense.

It was extremely effective, since it made all those who pursued him with violent desires in mind forget their intentions, but often in the heat of the moment, Carlisle's panic apparently caused his power to get somewhat carried away, and he erased more from their minds than was strictly necessary, which could translate into whole years instantly deleted in seconds, or entire lives wiped clean of any experience at all. And the worst part was that if only a portion of their mind was wiped, his "victims" would have no idea of how much time had been lost (at least, not without outside help), because Carlisle's ability erased even the sense of chronology, or the passing of time, in their minds, leaving them without even the pitiful assistance of the order and duration of their leftover emotions to develop a convincing theory as to what they had lost.

Alec's fearful thoughts continued: _The only oddity with this power it that when Carlisle deletes memories instead of replacing them he leaves behind a whiteness, Master called it, just a vacant white wall as a placeholder for the missing memories. Master can see it in the minds of others who have been effected by Carlisle and not had their memories restored by him, an obvious indication that something has been removed, but Master cannot tell what that was, even with his gift. It is simply no longer there. The only one who can bring it back is Carlisle, who can restore the memories he deletes as well, if you are willing to risk a second touch. _

_If you are willing to risk a second touch_, I repeated in my thoughts, before settling on the assertion that I certainly would not risk it. If Carlisle took away some of my memories, but not all, I would cut my losses and never let him touch me again. I would not be willing to gamble any more of my experiences on the slim chance of getting those back. It was not worth the risk.

_I refuse to let something horrific like that happen to me,_ Alec thought determinedly as he stared steadfastly into Carlisle's golden eyes. I_ wish I could just cut off his senses and Jane could kill him, but Aro gave strict orders to leave him alive as long as he did nothing to provoke us. Can I say that merely his presence in the world is provoking enough? No... probably not. _

But although I still cared a lot for the doctor, despite his recent confusion that I was being manipulated, I found myself agreeing with Alec's sentiment, which frightened me to no end. Carlisle's existence in the world was a threat to the foundation of reality, and I wondered if he was unbelievably lucky that Aro had befriend him so deeply, because otherwise I was fairly certain that the Volturi would have launched an all-out assault against the man, only to awaken from the confrontation recalling nothing but the touch of a forbidding hand, the flurry of all their emotions shoved into the vacant expanse of white before their wide scarlet eyes.

No wonder those he did this to screamed.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to scream _right now_ just thinking about it.

And as Jane and Alec left, slipped slowly backwards away from us, their icy red eyes not leaving Carlisle for a second as their jet black cloaks billowed threateningly around them I had one last terrifying thought before they drifted majestically away into the trees.

Just having the knowledge that Carlisle possessed such a diabolical power was going to drive me utterly insane.

...

Although my increased knowledge of Carlisle's powers caused a great deal of anxious mistrust and debilitating stress to build between him and myself, Carlisle repeatedly assured me that he had learned from his prior mistakes in Volterra and had solemnly sworn never to intentionally harm anyone with his gift ever again, as well as promised to give his very best effort to never resort to it in the heat of the moment, unless it was in defense of our lives. With my speaking capabilities fully resorted, I had tried to convince him that he should not intervene on my behalf if I decided to seek self-termination once again, but my selfless pleas to be allowed to do the noble thing and destroy myself were met with complete incredulity at best, and horrified fatherly concern at worst. I soon learned that Carlisle had hoped that my miraculous healing would increase my gratefulness for the unlife which had been cruelly thrust upon me, and wished beyond all else that his estimation of my mental state being negatively influenced by Aria would prove incorrect, and that I would "snap out of" whatever angsty phase I was going through.

Upon discovering that my terminal desire was persistent and unyielding—as evidenced by my repeated attempts at sneaking off to set myself aflame, or rushing to antagonize nomads passing through the area, which were always curiously foiled at the last possible second—Carlisle boldly announced aloud (instead of simply postulating within his thoughts) that my failed suicide attempts were the last piece of evidence he needed to determine that Aria's spell was tampering with our minds, and that as a result of this newfound knowledge, the witch needed to be summarily removed from existence in order to release us, and Eleazar's covenmates from her unethical manipulations.

It was shocking, to both Esme and I that Carlisle was so unwaveringly intent on causing the helpful witch's death, since it seemed horribly out-of-character for him to resort to killing—probably his least favorite activity in the entire universe—so quickly and for what we perceived to be a non-existent cause. But by having patiently observed our "unbalanced" emotional states and "illogical" behaviors for eight years, and having spoken to Eleazar about the lingering effects of her spells, Carlisle realized that Carmen, Tanya, Irina, Kate, Esme and I would only ever cease to be "manipulated" if all of the influences of Aria's enchantments were removed all at once. He believed—and he was probably right—that none of us would ever stop returning to Aria to reinstate the spell otherwise.

And the only way to completely nullify all of her enchantments for certain was to bring about her demise.

His plan—at least as much of it as he allowed to slip into the readable forefront of his mind—was to meet up with Eleazar as soon as possible so that together they could decide how to best dispose of the witch who they were deluded into believing were ruining our lives, before choosing the most opportune moment to attack, when we were least likely to be able to leap to Aria's defense.

When I revealed his intentions to Esme, she and I approached him with our deep concerns, offering our soundest arguments, most heartbreaking emotional appeals, and we even grew skin-tearingly violent when nothing else seemed to persuade him, but our protective physical attacks and desperate pleas in behalf of the innocent woman made absolutely no positive impression on him. On the contrary it seemed as though the more Esme and I clamored zealously to Aria's defense, the more thoroughly persuaded he became that she had addled our brains, and needed to be stopped before we were driven against our will to inflict any more harm on ourselves than we already had.

Esme, in the blindness rendered by her love to Carlisle, began to wonder if perhaps he was right in his nonsensical assumptions, and stopped protesting his actions for a while, but instead curled up into a disconsolate ball and wept dryly at the notion that she might be forced to consume humans again. Carlisle tried in vain to console her that Eleazar managed a mixed diet at times, but the widely-known infrequency of his success combined with Esme's profound moral terror over the notion of slaughtering human beings only caused her to wail louder. Seeing her acute distress he quickly switched tactics and attempted to persuade her that he could endeavor to acquire enough bottled human blood from the local hospitals and morgues to prevent human deaths, but all of us knew, with how limited blood supply was in these times, and how suspicious copious disappearances of the substance would be, this would not completely work. Perhaps Carlisle could get away with taking a few bottles that were nearly past their expiration date, every so often, but old blood was extremely hit and miss as far as nutritional value went, and he could hardly managed to inconspicuously obtain enough for all of us.

It simply was not feasible right now.

Perhaps in the future, when blood became more readily available, it might be, but at the moment, without the spell, Esme and I would be inexorably compelled to seek human blood directly from the source, and inevitably kill as a result. We were not controlled enough to sneak into houses at night with syringes and draw out tiny amounts unnoticed from peacefully sleeping mortals. We were predators, sadistic, savage, evil, and most likely damned by nature—if we even had a soul.

Murder was an instinct that ran deep into our bones.

But even deeper than that, it seemed that Esme and I felt an itching compulsion to protect Aria at all costs—driving us with all the strength of primal instinct, as though Aria was the key to our survival—to keep her alive, to keep using the spell, to keep us from killing, lest we be driven to kill ourselves. And so, in response to this unavoidable drive, we rallied the blond sisters and Carmen together with us to righteously defend her.

But on the night that I had discovered Carlisle and Eleazar had determined they were going to attack, they never showed up.

The six of us formed a protective circle around the confidently smiling witch and watched her all week to make sure that they had not simply misinformed us on purpose, but throughout our unwavering vigil, neither Carlisle nor Eleazar ever confronted us. When we finally reluctantly disbanded in confusion at this sudden change of plans Carlisle gave the flimsy excuse that Eleazar had convinced him not to harm Aria for his mate's sake, but I suspected that there was more going on here than he was letting on.

And that made me vastly uncomfortable.


	19. Chapter 18: Destiny or Destruction

**AN: If any of you are confused about the dates or what is going on, I have timelines posted on deviantart which explain both the Cullens' and the Volturi's history (according to cannon and my own additions). You can find the link on my profile page. :) There should also be some new story-related videos on my Youtube account. Feel free to check them out. **

**Also, I feel like Meyer's distinctions between which gifts are physical, mental or neither (like Alice's) were rather arbitrary, so I decided to set up the rule that anything to do with emotions or causing actual healing/damage to the body is physical, anything to do with memories, illusions or the mind is obviously mental, and everything else is neither. The only powers this really effects are Kate's (which Meyer said was mental, but I say is obviously physical because it actually shocks you), and Chelsea's (again, Meyer said mental, but as an emotionally manipulative gift, I say it's physical). For those of you worried about Kate being vegetarian with physical powers, she isn't perfect (lots of 'slip ups') and she only really experiences major problems when she over-exerts her powers. Chelsea, of course, eats humans, so no problem there. ;)**

**Aaaaaand, we're back to Bella, but Rosalie and Emmett's diet switches will be explained, so don't worry. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen: Destiny or Destruction<strong>

While my inquisitive mind was still reeling from all that I had seen and felt through Edward's perspective—especially the last puzzling revelation that Carlisle had ultimately decided to leave Aria alone, despite the extremely convincing evidence that she was somehow messing with Edward's head—suddenly the flurry of images and feelings pouring into my being through the chain of mental powers created by Aro and his offspring evaporated. Sensation was gradually returning to my human female body, but since I had spent the better part of this fateful visit subsumed in the experiences of male vampires, my own mortal woman figure, despite its comforting familiarity, felt almost completely alien. My human nose did little to capture the scents permeating the turret room's stale air, which I knew from Aro's memories was likely swarming with all sorts of interesting smells, and my arms felt like limp spaghetti noodles in comparison with Edward's lean, powerful biceps.

I felt numb and disoriented—all of my senses were so weak it took a few moments for me to get my bearings.

As tiny Lucretia lifted her icy little hand out of mine, I blinked my perplexed brown eyes rapidly to readjust to the dim lighting here in the Volturi's underground fortress in modern Volterra, and took a shaky step backwards from the eerily synchronized twins. They were both tilting their heads to the side at precisely the same unnatural angle, watching anxiously in anticipation for my reaction to all that I had seen with their curious ruby eyes—the only eyes in the room which bore no obvious indication of hunger. And although I had a fairly good impression that the creepily adorable duo was not considering me as a potential meal, their fixated, unblinking gaze was still extremely unnerving and I found it bizarrely hard to look away.

Disturbed by the scrutiny of the tiny vampires, I pried my eyes away from their unsettling stares and I reached out to my displaced mental barrier, slowly coaxing the shimmering red veil in my mind's eye across the room to where I stood, and breathing a sigh of relief as the intangible shield settled reassuringly over my mind, blocking out all potential internal intrusions. As the severe emotional unease of being cognitively exposed vanished, I realized that I was still tottering slightly where I stood—having been rendered mildly dizzy from the recent almost out-of-body-experience—and I slowly raised a trembling hand to my forehead to steady myself and attempted to mentally process what I had just recently encountered.

It was all too much to absorb at once, and I had not really been given much time to sort anything out after the first two batches of events transferred into my recollection through Aro's daughters before the third, so I decided to piece out what I had discovered from Edward's, Aro's and Carlisle's memories into discernable, comprehendible chunks and see if that would help me sort out the mess I had just waded through.

First, I understood that Carlisle's and Aro's experiences had irrefutably proved that animal blood was unhealthy, and thus far only human blood could provide the nourishment that vampires needed to remain strong and fertile—that much was obvious. And although this truth was terrifying, since it completely devastated my previous paradigms about vampire lifestyles, the facts in of themselves needed no further examination. What I was going to do in response to these inescapable truths about vampire nature, I did not know, which perturbed me greatly, since I still clung firmly to the desire to become an immortal myself, and simultaneously was extremely sickened by the prospect of causing human demise, but I figured I would come to a satisfactory conclusion once I had sorted everything out.

Secondly, I had learned that there were witches in this world, and Children of the Moon in addition to the vampires and werewolves I was already familiar with, which meant that the supernatural world was probably a lot larger and more complex than I had previously assumed. I knew very little about witches, since the subject had never come up during Carlisle's or Aro's memories and Edward had refused to analyze Aria any further after she had administered the spell, and I knew even less about the Children of the Moon—understanding only that they bore some superficial resemblance to Jacob's kind and that it was against Volturi law to form alliances with them—but I felt I could say with reasonable certainty that Carlisle was correct in his estimation of Aria's manipulations. Having experienced Edward's chaotically guilty thoughts myself, and knowing from her sadistic thoughts during our first meeting that the witch possessed substantial motivation to harm vampirekind, I saw little possibility for anything else.

Thirdly, I had learned that Edward had tried multiple times to kill himself, and looked like he was still attempting to antagonize his captors into dealing the fatal blow even now, which meant that Aria was almost definitely still alive and addling his brain, and that Carlisle's bewildering ceasefire was still in effect. This portion of knowledge, while hardly the most troubling thing I had learned today, was the only matter which had been revealed thus far which made absolutely no discernable sense. I felt like something terribly important was missing from the equation—something which would explain why Carlisle had discontinued his attempt on Aria's life at the last second, why Rosalie and Emmett as well as Alice and Jasper who joined up a decade later eventually switched over to 'vegetarianism' sometime before I came into the equation, and why Edward at least, and possibly many of the others in both the Cullen and Denali covens were still on the mind-addling spell. Logically, it seemed that everyone except Carlisle should have gone back to drinking human blood in the orthodox manner by now, but that was definitely not the case.

And although I was completely assured in the knowledge that animal blood was an inviable substance for vampires—which I surmised was the primary conclusion Aro wished for me to draw from this influx of memories—I wanted to be sure that I understood every facet of the situation with Aria and the Cullens before I made the unalterable decision to change or die.

Of course, judging by the way Aro and the small remainder of his guard who remained in the room were unconsciously flicking their tongues out of their mouths to catch the viscous venom slipping from their alabaster lips, and the cold, hungry burgundy stares that were all converging on my person, I realized I would have to make my questions quick. Aro, at least, had promised earlier that I would not become the meal, and having lived for a few decades as him myself, I trusted that he would endeavor his hardest to keep his word—since it was strictly against his unique code of ethics to swear oaths he could not keep—but I could not say anything for sure about the others, so I resolutely swallowed the uncomfortable lump that was building in my dry throat, and hastily parted my chapped lips to speak.

"Wait… so… why did Carlisle decide against killing Aria?" I frantically begged Aro for an explanation, but when he did not immediately respond, being thoroughly distracted with staring predatorily at my neck, I hurriedly added to my inquiry, this time in a voice slightly louder and more insistent, hoping to get his attention off of how disturbingly delicious I apparently looked. "The spell is still messing with his head, isn't it?" I demanded, pointing an accusatory finger towards Edward, who fiercely gritted his venom-glossed teeth and limply shook his head in sour disagreement with my assessment.

Realizing all of a sudden that I was speaking to him, Aro abruptly shook himself out of his thirsty stupor, a tiny, jerky motion, and slowly nodded. "Yes. It is," he offered calmly, gesturing towards the dismembered vampire scowling grumpily at us as he knelt, pathetic and armless against the cool sienna floors. "Quite profoundly," Aro added with a tiny smirk, which earned a low guttural growl of protest from Edward, before Demetri kicked him warningly in the thigh to shut him up.

"So then why is Edward still using it… why didn't Carlisle kill Aria and free him from it?" I asked with bewildered concern, directing the urgent question at Aro, assuming he would know the answer, but although his smile grew creepily ecstatic at the notion that I was upset that the witch had not been killed—evidently greatly pleased that on some level I desired the sadistic witch's death—he made no move to sate my frantic curiosity.

Instead, I was surprised when Alice's high soprano voice suddenly cut through the suffocating silence, especially since she was apparently grinding her teeth with the effort it was taking her to resist her thirst once she inhaled. "It is true that Carlisle was going to kill Aria to make sure that everyone under her power was completely free from it," Alice explained with a voice clipped with thirsty impatience, all the while refusing to look at me directly, most likely to avoid being distracted by my tasty appearance and scent. "All enchantments end when the witch who casted them dies," she tossed in swiftly almost as an afterthought. "But I intervened the night before he and Eleazar were planning their attack."

"What? Why did you stop him?" I demanded uncomprehendingly, flickering an incredulous glance between her and her surrogate brother who was scowling up at her wrathfully for some unknowable reason—probably in response to something manifested in her private thoughts which I could not see. I failed to understand why Alice of all people would intervene, especially since she had not officially joined the Cullens when this had happened (although I knew she had been a vampire roughly as long as Esme had), unless…

"Did you see something in your visions that needed her alive?" I asked in trepidation—it was the only reason I knew of which would make any sense.

Alice offered a tightlipped nod and I wondered at what she might have seen with her gift which had led her to protect the hateful, coercive woman. "And did you tell Carlisle about this vision?" I pressed gently, curious to know how Alice had managed to convinced the stalwartly determined doctor to stray from his initial course. But instead of launching into a lengthy explanation, I only received another curt nod from Alice.

"What did you tell him?" I probed, anxious to hear her explanation of the events, momentarily forgetting that Alice was avoiding saying anymore than strictly necessary for my own safety—since every word required her to breathe the air which carried the considerable temptation of my scent.

Alice rolled her eyes at my constant prodding and finally decided to speak: "When I went to stop him from killing Aria, I told him that the future was in danger if you never became a vampire, and in order for that to happen, you had to see us as vegetarians first," she explained quickly, giving me absolutely no time to process her words before she rushed on, determined to get all of her words out before her mouth drowned in accumulating saliva from my unbearably appetizing smell. "Humans dying still upsets you… you would have never even considered the perks of becoming a vampire if the cons seemed that great," she observed matter-of-factly, clasping her gloved hands in front of her and hanging her pixie-like head in what looked like shame, as though she felt guilty for withholding the truth from me, and yet felt that it was absolutely necessary to do so. "And if the Cullens drank human blood you probably would have never learned of the existence of vampires in the first place since they could not blend in as easily with humans—you would not be here, learning all of this and being asked to make a choice," she added finally, before her rose-painted lips hardened back into a vacuum-sealed line and her chest stilled completely.

"…But…" I began in protest before I trailed off, contemplatively chewing on my lower lip. _Alice is right,_ I realized with chagrin._ I wouldn't have ever wanted to become a vampire if I had presumed them to all be human-killing monsters. Even now, although I am fairly certain I want to be a vampire, I do not know if I can kill people. Maybe I can tell Aro to get connected with the local blood banks and morgues or something… people are people… _I reassured myself. But disturbingly, even in my own mind, that argument seemed hopelessly weak all of a sudden. _Does it really matter what they are if consuming them is the key to my heart's greatest desire—and possibly a position among the world's most powerful, most coveted coven in the world? _

I shuddered at my own thoughts. How could it be that I was changing my mind—_did I not promise myself that no matter what I saw, that I would not do as Aro had obviously hoped and agree to become a remorseless murderer?_

"Why is that important? I am just a silly human girl," I rebutted, unwilling to believe Alice's nonsensical explanation for standing in the way of Aria's execution. "Wouldn't it be better if I was kept in the dark?"

"No." Aro and Alice both declared in unintentional unison, and all of the other vampires left in the room were gaping at the two of them in shock—_wasn't it Aro's job to protect the vampire secret, not expose it willy-nilly_? their skeptical blackening eyes said, though, fearing the ancient vampire's wrath, they did not dare voice their dissenting thoughts aloud. "Your power can be a great benefit to the vampire world," Alice swiftly clarified to allay the dark looks that the remaining crowd of fidgety Volturi guard members were sending her and Aro nodded to convey his agreement with her assessment and his unspoken expectation that his guard accept this as well.

I watched in awe as an aura of placid acceptance washed over the circle of thirsty vampires surrounding us in response to his subtle but authoritative gesture and my already sky-high appreciation for the man increased tenfold—his influence over so many ridiculously powerful beings was almost god-like, making me wonder what besides his ancient wisdom and invasive gift might be the secret to his flawless command. Perhaps it was the nigh-unserverable bonds of trust and solidarity that Chelsea enforced on the guard members which compelled them into such unwavering obedience—or perhaps it was something else. While she had used her gifts to convince many on the edge of amicable acquaintanceship with Aro to join the Volturi, or convince the innocent in a coven on trial to willingly separate themselves from the guilty so that their lives could be spared, Chelsea's powers (I had learned from Aro's mind) had their limits. Especially since her power dealt with the manipulation of emotional bonds, and therefore was a physical power, meaning that it was taxing on her system to utilize it too often and too intensely.

I was given no further time to ponder what other methods Aro might use besides Chelsea's gift and his own overwhelming charisma to elicit such unwavering obedience, however, as Alice cut my thoughts short with a devastating clarifying statement.

"In fact…" Alice began boldly, raising her head suddenly and boring her fathomless black eyes into mine. "…your power may be the only way to protect against our extinction, Bella."

"What?" Aro and I both exclaimed in dismayed unison. "Dear Alice, why did you not inform me of this possibility?" Aro breathed in evident alarm, his features betraying a conflicting concoction of horrified awe at the prospect of the destruction of his race and personal affront that Alice had not deinged to relay this vital piece of information. My response was not nearly as elegant as Aro's—instead of articulating an artful question, my jaw merely totally slackened in utter shock and I dumbly asked "Extinction?!"

Alice sighed and began what I felt like was going to be a long explanation, clenching her teeth to distract from her mounting hunger: "You recall what I said I saw as my first vision upon becoming a vampire, right?"

"Yes…" I began hesitantly, failing to see how this was relevant to the coming extinction of the vampire race which Alice purported that I could somehow avert with my powers. "You saw Jasper, and knew that you would marry him someday," I added for good measure, hoping to prod Alice along into further explanation, despite knowing the risks of compelling her to speak—every time she opened her mouth, assuming that her body was unaffected by the thirst-suppression spell, I was putting my neck on the line merely by standing here in the same room.

"I would become his mate, yes," Alice clarified rather insistently in a startlingly sharp tone. "The distinction may not be important to you, but to vampires mates and marriages are two different things. They usually coincide, but not always," she explained quickly before summarily shutting up, and swaying her little arms slightly at her sides while rocking on her heels, presumably to divert her attention from her building thirst, which I could only imagine was growing progressively unbearable by the minute.

"Okay, you and Jasper were going to be… _mates, _then," I conceded, surprised that Alice would waste her breath on what I perceived to be such a trivial matter.

"Yes, but that was not all I saw," she continued vaguely.

"What else did you see?"

"I saw many things in that first vision, but most relevantly, I saw this day, with you and I standing before Aro and the Volturi guard, I saw all of the side effects of Carlisle's diet and his coven's methods of living on animal blood, and I saw fragments of an enormous battle between vampires," she related at breakneck speed until Aro suddenly jutted out a halting hand and interjected. "A battle?" He asked with a quizzically concerned expression, drifting majestically closer to my petite, spiky-haired friend in a graceful arch that was carefully calculated to keep as much distance as possible from myself while maximizing proximity to Alice. "What sort of battle might you have seen, dearest Alice?" Aro politely requested, his dark maroon eyes glittering with boundless curiosity as he tapped his fingertips anxiously together while impatiently awaiting her response.

"A confrontation in Seattle with an army of newborn vampires," Alice said hurriedly, as though the sentence was one extremely long word instead of multiple, barely giving me enough time to register why anyone would make an army out of newly transformed vampires (Aro had mentioned that they were stronger than regular vampires) before she rushed on into the next sentence. "Although, I have no idea what they were created for and there is something else blocking most of my sight—perhaps the werewolves are involved," she added without thinking about the possible misconceptions her words could cause.

I understood exactly what she meant, having noticed that her powers were strangely unable to predict any events which become sufficiently entangled with the decisions of the Quileute shapeshifters, but all the vampires in the room except Aro, Edward and Alice visibly stiffened at the word "werewolves". I guessed that they mistakenly assumed that Alice was referring to the Children of the Moon—as Carlisle had predicted they would—and they reacted with all the anticipated horror and outrage that the foul species which they continually endeavored to exterminate had anything to do with this catastrophic upcoming conflict.

"…I mean the shape-shifters in La Push," she clarified hastily, realizing her mistake, and making rapid crisscrossing "x" motions with her thin arms to encourage everyone in the vicinity to eliminate the possibility of those monsters' involvement in the events of the future. "They just happen to take the form of wolves."

The crowd looked uncertainly toward Aro who again nodded in assent. "Yes, Edward has shown me the creatures of which you speak, fascinating beings, who can change into enormous wolves at will," he spoke more to the crowd than to Alice, to assure them that what she spoke of was something wholly other than the forbidden object of their fears. "They are formidable, yes…" he conceded reluctantly, with placatingly motioning hands, "but they do not prey on humans, and their transformation is not uncontrollable, and therefore they deserve none of our ire, so long as they do not provoke us," he explained in an irresistibly soft, feathery voice that must have made angels cry with passionate envy, made me want to happily melt into his arms, and seemed to have a calming effect on his intended audience.

"They are not fond of vampires, but Carlisle did managed to establish a treaty with them whilst living on animal blood…" Aro added carefully, before he stopped short of finishing his sentence and seemed to consider something important for a moment, idly stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "…if they could perhaps be swayed into an alliance with us…"

"Forget it, Aro." Alice chipped in with a shrill bark of a voice. "The Quileute shapeshifters may decide to grudgingly tolerate animal-drinking vampires, but they would never agree to serve you. They see us as monsters, as their mortal enemies," Alice bit out through angrily gritted teeth, furiously trying to quell Aro's hyperactive acquisitive tendencies.

"Much like witches do, although witches can be persuaded…" Aro mused aloud with a conspiratal smirk, totally unphased by Alice's harsh response, and his dark maroon eyes sparkling with delight at the prospect of persuading some, if not all of Sam's pack to serve the Volturi in some fashion or another. I wondered what he would have them do—before it dawned on me that their brute strength and imposing appearances were really only suited to one purpose among the Volturi: they would invariably be relegated to the task of being massive guard dogs.

"I know of your truce with Vittorio," Alice reminded Aro, puzzling me with her reference to a person whom I had no knowledge of. "…but they will not be enticed by promises of immortality, Aro. Most shapeshifters from that tribe choose to be mortal in order to die alongside their loved ones. Plus, they hardly need your help if they wished to live forever anyway."

I frenetically switched my head back and forth between the pair trying to make sense of their suddenly incomprehensible conversation. "Wait… I don't understand…" I called out to signal that Alice and Aro were getting way ahead of me and I wanted to know what the hell they were talking about.

"Jacob and his friends will not age as long as they keep phasing," Alice revealed suddenly, spinning breathtakingly on her stiletto heels to face me as she spoke, her floral scarf dancing around her in beautiful arcs, and her loose sweater billowing mesmerizingly in the wind she generated from her ballerina-like movements. "That's part of the perks of being born with vampire-triggered powers," she chirped with a lopsided smile. "As long as he keeps using them, he will never grow old and never die."

My eyes widened at this unexpected factoid—_Jacob would never die, as long as he continued to morph into a wolf occasionally? If he desired it, he could be immortal?_ _Is he aware of this?_ I wondered, baffled by the idea that I might not necessarily outlive him after all if I obtained my wish to become one of the beautiful undead.

"But as soon as he, or Aria or any other person whose powers are triggered in the presence of vampires stop using their gifts for several years, they become mortal again and lose their abilities," Alice explained neutrally, before her cute, quirky smirk contorted into a sharp frown. "For shape-shifters who want immortality, they reach it easily, they can just keep changing shape every so often and they never age. But for witches, they need to use spells on others, powerful ones work best—and since the Volturi would execute them for exposing the supernatural if they openly performed spells on humans, most are somewhat forced into alliances with vampires in order to perform spells strong enough to keep their immortality."

I nodded to convey that I understood her explanation thus far—it made sense that the witches would not be able to sustainably use their powers on humans, since surreptitious enchantments placed on mortals could not be very powerful, or else the humans would notice—but I also realized that since witches harbored a nemesis-like hatred of vampirekind just as Jacob and the pack did, this made things complicated if the witches wanted immortality. They would have to team up with their enemies to obtain it.

"Most witches are female," Alice continued encyclopedically, "…but Vittorio is a rare male witch who has made such an agreement with the Volturi. He lives separately from them, not here in the castle, but they call upon him for all their magical needs to grant him his immortality and in exchange he agrees to never cast any malignant spells on the guard."

Aro seemed a little taken off guard that Alice knew all of this, and the cloaked figures surrounding us shuffled in fearful uncertainty away from her as they began to be wary of the uncomfortable expanse of her knowledge about them, but I was not totally surprised—evidently she had been monitoring the Volturi's decisions for a while with her powers, which could teach her all sorts of interesting information if she watched long enough. Why she would focus her attention on them for a substantial duration of time to know so much about them, I wasn't sure, but it wasn't _too_ strange for her to want to be privy to the inner workings of the group of forty-or-so vampires who basically ruled the earth. Information like that could always be handy…

"Vittorio's relationship with the Volturi works out rather symbiotically," Alice added casually, with an offhand toss of her hand, before her bow-shaped lips tightened once again, and she balled her hands into worrisome little fists.

"Okay… But if Aria wants immortality… why is she hurting the vampires who she is casting spells on?" I asked, still not quite understanding the apparently parasitic choices she was making when a symbiotic relationship was what most magicians of her kind evidently strived for. "Isn't that detrimental to her cause?"

"Edward is the only one thus far who has been driven to suicide," Alice pointed out with an instructively pointing finger in her surrogate brother's direction. "I think that her mind-tampering spell is non-specific enough to tap into whatever is the individual vampire's most convincing reason to stay away from human blood, and lay on the pressure to avoid it at all costs," she theorized and Aro's eyes widened in intrigue at her suitably logical suggestion. "Esme was worried about how Carlisle would perceive her as a human-drinker and emotionally disturbed by killing, and so Aria tapped into that and warped it to suit her ends. Carmen was naturally compassionate towards all people and so Aria tapped into that and used it to her advantage. Kate, Tanya and Irina hate the Volturi, so Aria tapped into that and twisted it into a hate for all human-drinkers. Eleazar had no real compelling reason to stay with the diet, so the spell floundered, and was ultimately not strong enough to keep him off of human blood. Edward, was not emotionally disturbed by drinking human blood, nor hating of human-drinkers, nor particularly fearful of anyone else's perceptions of him, so he might have ended up like Eleazar as well, except that he had a weakness where Eleazar did not."

"What weakness?" I asked, insatiably curious to know what made Edward specifically vulnerable whereas Eleazar was not.

"Eleazar, like Carlisle, is a religious vampire—" Alice began with thirstily twitching fingers.

"They are not all that rare, actually." Aro interjected with a small smile, which was bewilderingly pointedly directed towards me. _Was Aro going to try to convert me to his spiritual beliefs as well as his perspectives on drinking human blood? _I pondered, taken aback somewhat by the notion of seriously discussing the relatively foreign topic of my salvation with the ancient vampire whose own beliefs on the matter, given his multiplicity of religious experiences through his gift, were considerably jumbled and complex.

"…But he had long ago reconciled his faith with his food," Alice continued impassively, as though no interruption had occurred. "…in such a steadfast manner that Aria's spell couldn't convincingly plant doubt in his mind about it. Edward, on the other hand, had uncertain beliefs, and that uncertainty allowed room for Aria's manipulations to twist that into something way-out-of-proportion and skew it to whatever would work best to keep him off human blood."

I nodded to indicate that I understood what had been said thus far before launching my next inquiry. "But then why was he driven to suicide? If he dies, then Aria can no longer cast any spells on him."

"I believe that the spell intensifies the guilt and desire to not kill proportionately to every slip up and urge for human blood," Alice offered logically, her lithe pink tongue flicking over her lips to catch the glistening venom starting to drip there. "Edward struggled with his thirst perhaps the most profoundly out of all of them, and because he originally had no qualms over killing humans for their blood, the strength of guilt required to keep him away from human blood ended up being too powerful to keep him wanting to live."

"I guess that makes sense…" I acquiesced hesitantly. "But you never did explain what you meant by extinction… do you really think that the entire vampire race is at stake if I do not join them?" I asked dubiously, incredulous and terrified that Alice seemed to genuinely believe that my transformation into a vampire was vital in order to preserve the future of an entire species—especially one as unbeatable and resilient as vampires.

"There is still a slim possibility that we survive the attack without you…" Alice admitted thoughtfully, poking her cheek with her index finger as she stared absently off into space, her glossy black eyes waxing increasingly vacant, as though she was no longer looking at anything in this dimension, but rather revisiting all the possible futures related to this topic in her mind. Abruptly, Alice blinked—a jarring action coming from someone who hadn't blinked in the past five minutes at least—and resumed speaking: "But with your shielding power on our side, we can avoid a lot of deaths, and have a much higher chance at avoiding the exposure of the supernatural world," she explained with a pained-looking, but ultimately cheery smile—she was making a valiant effort to not eat me, which I felt was extremely commendable, given the circumstances.

"Exposure—why would a battle expose vampires?" I questioned disbelievingly, searching out any logical excuse to throw disreputability on Alice's outlandish theory that I was some kind of "chosen savior" for the vampire race. "I mean, the Volturi have fought lots of battles before…" I contributed pathetically, before my passionately outstretched arms slumped weakly in defeat—no matter what I said, Alice always knew best.

"Not in the middle of a crowded urban center, which is where my predictions place it," Alice countered succinctly. "And if the battle gets dire, survival, not secrecy, will be the first thing on our minds."

I nodded gravely in understanding—vampires might put on a pretense of civilization when all was well, but it had become especially clear in this last hour that they were fundamentally driven by overwhelmingly potent instincts, and would react similarly to any other animal when they were significantly provoked. And since Alice had mentioned, and I had seen through Aro's eyes that some of the Volturi had rather formidable gifts which could cause quite a scene if utilized in a crowded city street, I understood that the threat of exposure was very real if they were to face off against a newborn army in Seattle. "So then humans will discover that vampires exist…" I breathed in a terror-struck whisper.

Alice responded with a solemn nod.

"Then what… I still don't understand how that leads to the extinction part," I expressed with evident confusion contorting my unremarkable features into puzzled squiggles. "What can humans possibly do against vampires? Bullets and knives are useless."

"You know that the only way we can die is if we're burnt to ash right?" Alice asked as though she was asking something thoroughly mundane, such as whether I knew who the current president of the United States was, instead of such a morbid inquiry. I responded to her question by nodding quickly and shuddering heavily, recalling the horrifying feeling of flames licking at my/Edward's skin.

"And you are most certainly aware that humans have modern weapons which can create big fires, right?" She prodded further, visibly swallowing the sizeable buildup of venom that had filled her mouth during this conversation, and sending a fleeting, desperate glance towards Aro in a silent plea to find a way to hurry this up so that she could be permitted to eat before I unwittingly became the meal. Aro's eyes widened minutely in empathetic understanding, but he otherwise remained utterly unmoved by her plight, determined to wait until I was finished satisfying my curiosity before allowing anyone remaining in this room to feed. It upset me that her thirst had progressed to what I had learned to be the point of nigh-intolerable starvation, but I was also stubbornly resolved to understand what Alice believed it was my destiny to prevent.

"Flamethrowers?" I asked incredulously, trying to imagine hordes of humans waving those pitiful wands of fire at an unstoppable force of charging, red-eyed vampires arrayed in velvety black cloaks, unable to picture the mortals as being very successful in this venture.

Alice rolled her eyes in exasperation and resolutely shook her head. "I was thinking more along the lines of explosives, like nuclear bombs," She said, and I was tempted to laugh at her clichéd allusion to such drastic measures, until I realized that she had said it with the utmost seriousness. "And those could _definitely _destroy us if we were hit head on," she explained with a somber expression, and a hasty glance over in Aro's direction confirmed that he too, was certain that he would be unable to survive a direct encounter with a nuclear explosion. "If humanity were to learn of our existence, they would make their best attempts to wipe all of us off the face of the earth," Alice declared forebodingly.

"…But that's so extreme!" I protested vehemently. "Would they really launch nuclear missiles against their own nation—I mean, tons of innocent people would die!" I practically shrieked, simultaneously horrified by the very-real prospect of such widespread massacre, and deeply skeptical that the human race was really fundamentally idiotic enough to cause such immense devastation to their own people.

"That did not stop them in Japan," Alice reminded me with a distrustful wagging of her finger. "And those were their fellow humans caught up in a petty military conflict. Think of how callous they will be toward our destruction. Any collateral damage experienced on the way to our extinction will be completely justified in their eyes," she replied definitively. "People that are somewhat culturally distant are simply numbers to them—statistics. We are less than that. We are monsters. They will show us no mercy."

I stood back in horror.

Alice was right—the fear of the unknown, and the inability to accept that we were not the highest link in the food chain would drive humanity insane. Certainly the governments of the world might initially be reluctant to fight in that manner, but given no other options, and increasing public terror, they would be forced to act, in a devastatingly destructive way.

I was pretty sure I looked like I was about to faint, but glancing to my right I noticed that Aro and the vampires standing several feet behind him had the same petrified expression.

"And how might Isabella prevent this?" Aro inquired with an expression brimming with a barely suppressed, frenetic eagerness, entreating Alice for her hand by fluidly outstretching his own for her to take so that he might witness her vision of my prevention of vampire extinction himself. As Aro's hand inched anxiously closer, Alice heartily slapped it away with her gloved fingers and a look of astonishment and extreme hurt flashed across his aristocratic features at her violent rejection. The circle of vampires around us released an audible gasp and Aro's twin daughters flanking him on both sides hissed furiously at the disrespectful action against their father, but Aro tenderly gestured forbiddingly toward them and his guard to indicate that Alice was not to be attacked.

"Few have gifts that are as potent and controllable as Bella's while they are yet human," Alice observed placidly, ignoring the disapproving glares fixated on her person from all directions which were making their best attempts to drill thousands of tiny holes into her skull. "Jane could cause a brief sharp sting in her victims, and Alec could make people feel a little numb, and Vera could heal small bruises or cuts, but most of this was done involuntarily in the heat of the moment," she offered, simultaneously impressing and frightening Aro with her knowledge of his guard members prior to their transformations, which was information that was not widely known, and seemed to etch deep suspicion into heavenly contours of his face.

"Her gift is constantly protecting her mind without her even being aware of it," Alice proceeded to say, inclining her head slightly in my direction as she expounded on my gift's usefulness in her melodious high soprano voice. "…and it can lash out in defense too, which it did to Carlisle when he tried to make her forget us, but she can also control it so well already," she sang with a happy smile. "When she becomes a vampire, her shielding abilities will only increase, and that will gives us the protected advantage that we need in the battle to come so that we do not lash out conspicuously and betray ourselves," Alice announced in an almost worshipful tone, which struck an uncomfortable chord with me—it seemed fundamentally _wrong_ somehow for someone who possessed a talent as miraculous and coveted as hers to express such reverential awe for my powers, which seemed pitifully paltry by comparison.

"Ah, I see," Aro sighed in comprehension and relief, before he rapidly spun across the stone floor in my direction, his expertly tailored robes and long black cape swirling darkly around him, and a wide, avid grin pulling apart his thin lips as he drew painfully close to me. "I am thrilled by what we might see when you become one of us," he purred softly, ghosting the back of his frigid knuckles over my cheek, and bathing my face and neck in his cool, intoxicating breath before his eyes widened in an unreadable expression and he suddenly flitted backwards to a safe distance.

My skin tingled hotly from the fleeting contact, and I was left breathless, flustered and desperately wanting more of his icy, smooth skin brushing against mine—preferably every inch of him flush with every inch of me—but at least I was assured that Aro had been unable to read my mind from our brief connection, since my mental barrier was firmly in place. His utterly baffled facial expression and spasmodically flexing fingers which seemed to be itching to touch me again, also confirmed that there had been no breach of privacy, which I supposed was a shocking first for him.

After a few moments of awkward silence as Aro struggled to reign in the desire to seize my skin again, he directed his pericing gaze back to Alice with a look of unadulterated fascination and once again extended his hand cordially in invitation. "May I see this vision you speak of, Alice?" he asked with impeccable politeness, completely undeterred by her previous rejection.

Alice firmly shook her head, and Aro looked personally affronted again—I guessed that not many people had dared to refuse him. Especially not twice. Regardless, he made no move to punish her for what the rest of the guard clearly perceived to be unforgiveable insubordination, if their maliciously burning stares were any indication.

"Patience, Aro," Alice soothed in low, harmonious tones, hoping to ease the dramatically agonized expression off of his face. "Not until Bella makes her choice," she stipulated while crossing her arms forbiddingly. "She needs to decide of her own free will what she is going to do in light of this knowledge. We cannot afford to have you mess this up trying to force her hand," Alice relayed with a firmness that suggested that Aro would attempt exactly that if he were to see Alice's visions for himself before I had made my all-important decision.

Aro reluctantly nodded in understanding and sailed effortlessly backwards a few steps away from her, while I blinked in confusion a few times—there was still so much that I hadn't completely grasped.

"So… I am a key part in protecting the vampire world from destruction?" I asked, extremely doubtful of my abilities to become the glorious savior she clearly imagined I would eventually develop into, and still struggling to wrap my mind around the concept that Alice had clearly manipulated all of my interactions with vampirekind up until this point with the intention of persuading me to choose immortality for the greater good. "Why? What can I possibly do to help?" I implored in frustration—_what on earth did Alice think I was going to do? It wasn't like my mental shield could repel something as devastatingly physical as nuclear bombs._ "That sounds so… so _important_. I cannot do anything like that, can I?"

"Of course you can, Bella. You're much more special than you realize," Alice supplied with a friendly "thumbs up" and an unintentionally feral-looking smile, as her pearly white teeth were glittering with thick droplets of venom. "Something Edward never appreciated," she added in a distasteful grumble, to which Edward responded by scowling even deeper than before, but otherwise made no comment.

"I look forward to us being sisters in this coven," she announced cryptically, gesturing to the room around us, which rendered me hopelessly confused until I suddenly realized that she meant she hoped that we would both eventually join the ranks of those surrounding us—or in other words that we would eventually become full-fledged members of the Volturi.

"Wait… _you're _planning on joining the Volturi?" I couldn't believe it—this was just too much. I mean, logically they could definitely benefit from her powers, but it was difficult for me to imagine the free-spirited, friendly girl I had come to cherish as a surrogate sister participating in the ruling coven's more gruesome activities. Reconciling the idea of her drinking human blood directly from the source had been emotionally traumatizing enough, but to envision the ballerina pixie ruthlessly dismembering and lighting aflame countless criminal vampires, and hedonistically partaking of the Volturi's monthly feasts which occurred in this very room made me feel violently sick.

"Yes. I have always planned on joining the Volturi." Alice announced unexpectedly, and Aro's face lit up brighter than I thought possible with unbridled fanboyish glee, as he clapped his hands together in unrestrained excitement. Alice sent him a wary, warning glance, telling him to control his boundless enthusiasm before directing her obsidian gaze back towards me. "Don't look at me like that, Bella. They need me as much as they need you," she declared firmly with bared teeth in response to my mortified expression before parting her shining lips to explain her supposedly altruistic motives.

"Technological communication in the human world is getting incredibly advanced," she said gravely as she began to saunter menacingly back and forth, her high-heeled boots clacking imperiously against the hard stone floor. "Our secret could go from completely protected to worldwide knowledge in the few minutes it takes to upload and watch a YouTube video. Simply killing all the witnesses will not work anymore," she explained with icy ferocity shining in her fathomless black eyes. "We will need to strike _before _the exposure happens, not after, and I..." she emphatically splayed a leather gloved hand over her chest, "...am the only one with powers that allow us to do that."

I swallowed thickly and gave a hesitant nod. Once again, Alice was right. Even Carlisle's power would be relatively useless if nearly everyone on the planet learned of the truth within mere minutes. The damage done would be utterly irreversible, and inevitably devastating to the vampire race, if Alice's predictions of panic-induced nuclear fallout were anything to go off.

Clearly she believed it was her obligation to prevent a calamity of this scale from happening, but her explanation still failed to account for one thing: if the battle in Seattle was a part of her very first premonition... "Then why didn't you join the Volturi from the start?" I asked in bewilderment. "Why waste your time with the Cullen's and go to all these lengths to pretend to care about human life when you obviously don't?" I bit out with a little more petulance and anger than I had originally intended, probably because I felt horribly betrayed—first by Edward for using the fact that Carlisle couldn't alter my memories to start a false romance with me I order to kill himself, second by Carlisle for hiding his powers from me, which I felt I should have been made aware of, even if it drove me insane, and now by Alice, for having used everyone in her scheme to convince me to join the Volturi for the greater good.

Alice's terrifyingly admiring smile twisted into a disappointed pout. "We need you too, Bella," she insisted with a minute shake of one of her tiny white fists for emphasis. "All of this—letting Aria live, despite her manipulations, agreeing to live on a carefully balanced mixture of animal and bottled blood while Jasper and I stayed with the Cullens to keep our eyes yellowish for over fifty years, despite the difficulties with our gag-reflexes, convincing Carlisle to replace Rose and Emmett's memories so that they believed all vampires experienced the side effects of animal blood so that they would agree to be put on the spell and no longer drink human blood... all of that was in order to create this perfect scenario where you would be kept from the truth until you were ready to hear it."

"...Until you already wanted to be a vampire bad enough that what you learned today would not stop you," Alice announced with a resolute tone of finality, before flickering another desperately thirsty gaze at Aro in a silent plea to remedy her hunger as soon as possible. Aro, however, didn't seem to notice this time, as his deep burgundy eyes were wholly fixated on me, eagerly awaiting my reaction to her last audacious statement.

_Would the knowledge I had acquired today stop me?_ I wondered. _If I wanted to be a vampire, I would probably be convinced to join the Volturi as well to help in whatever fashion Alice believed that I could. And as a member of the Volturi, it was highly unlikely that I could find a sustainable method of obtaining human blood without killing or being too conspicuous. _Certainly blood banks and blood supply had improved greatly since the 1940s, when even Carlisle and Eleazar could only occasionally take nearly expired blood without being noticed, but although they could probably switch entirely to diets of bagged blood now, I was not going to be allotted the same resources as them living here in the I were to join the Volturi, I would almost certainly end up killing people for their blood—_but was I really okay with that? Was my desire to gain eternal youth, ethereal beauty, unimaginable strength and apparently world-saving powers strong enough to override my instinctual revulsion with human demise? _I considered, horrified with myself for even thinking it.

"Carlisle altered Rosalie and Emmett's memories?" I asked, partly because I genuinely desired to know, and partly to distract from my distressing inner thoughts.

"At my command, yes," Alice affirmed. "He was extremely reluctant to do so, but with the threat that if he did not help them switch diets that he would be inadvertently responsible for our race's extinction because you would never join us, he complied rather quickly," she explained between her teeth before suddenly going eerily still and ceasing to breathe again.

"So you're the reason that Rosalie does not know that she can have children if she drinks human blood..." I reasoned aloud and Alice nodded once succinctly.

"And you are the reason Jasper attacked me too, right?" I questioned a bit tersely as the realization of what she must have knowingly subjected him to suddenly dawned on me. "His powers are physical, aren't they?—and you _knew_ that putting him on a diet of animal blood, even only partially, would take an enormous toll on his system," I added venomously—because Alice had seen all of the side effects of animal blood in her first vision, and thus she did not have Carlisle's excuse that he did not know how much his test subjects would suffer. She knew that living on animal blood would be especially agonizing for someone like him, and yet he had cruelly endured the pain anyway.

"How could you torture him like that?" I practically screamed in compassionate rage over such heartless cruelty, and out of the corner of my eye I caught Aro's smile widening, which perplexed me until I suddenly understood why, in light of what I had just said. I had just admitted anger towards the idea that Alice had forced him to consume animal blood rather than kill humans for their blood, and by doing so, I had unwittingly divulged that I _wanted _Jasper to consume potentially even innocent people for his own health, (I had not specified that they needed to be criminals). It shocked me terribly that it seemed so natural now to suggest such a muderous remedy for his thirst, but I grudgingly was beginning to acknowledge that I could no long see animal-drinking and human-drinking in the same terms as before. Human death most certainly still disturbed me, but knowing that it was the only feasible way to stay healthy, maybe it wasn't so b—

Alice thankfully cut off my thoughts. "It is true that his physical powers made adiet of animal blood more difficult for him, but as an empath, Jasper struggles with feeling the emotions of his victims," she explained with a heavy heart and sorrowful expression, which instantly melted away all of my malicious feelings towards I struggled to comprehend how truly ghastly it would be to feel his prey's fear every time he hunted. "He volunteered to try a mixed diet to try and alleviate the pain of feeling the crushing terror every time he fed. My love for him is genuine—I did not force him, and I hope that he can eventually overcome this obstacle and also join this coven."

Mine and Aro's eyes enlarged at this revelation—mine in shock, and Aro's in wonderment. "…but you don't love the others?" I responded quizzically, with a slight tilt of my head in confusion. That seemed to be Alice's suggestion at least.

Alice looked hurt and swiftly protested my assessment. "Jasper did not necessarily have to be a part of the Cullen family for you to be swayed, in fact, he was a liability to convincing you that we were sustainable," she declared in hasty justification. "...but the others… you have to understand that what I have seen—the horrible destruction of not only our entire race, but of countless innocent lives of all species, the horrific carnage I saw... buildings and bodies burning in every direction..." she trailed off, choking on her words as she recalled the grisly scenes in her mind. "I had to do whatever was necessary to prevent that," Alice explained desperately, her petite hands shaking violently with the force of her sheer terror and her eyes wider with unmasked fear than I had ever seen. Clearly, whatever mass-destruction she had witnessed in her vision had scared the hell out of her, and she saw it completely necessary to avoid it at all costs, no matter how underhanded and self-serving her actions might appear.

I think I was beginning to understand—her reaction to this vision certainly scared the hell out of _me_.

"I promised Carlisle that as soon as you became one of us, that he could restore Rosalie's and Emmett's memories and kill Aria," Alice offered placatingly, as though that somehow made up for the decades of deception. "But your contribution to the upcoming battle is vital. With your shield protecting us from death and injury, the whole guard can fight safely, and rationally against the newborns without exposing our existence. Please, Bella, we need you," she begged me, clasping her hands together in a trembling, prayer-like supplication, and even bending to one knee in a startling gesture of humility as she gaze expectantly into my wide brown eyes with horrified longing.

I was simultaneously mortified and honored as Aro rapidly copied Alice's pleading position, and his entire guard (what was left of them, at least) frantically scrambled to lower themselves even closer to the floor so as to not appear to think themselves higher than their master. I stood, dumbfounded in the center of a room full of bowing vampires who could easily tear me to ribbons, completely at a loss for what to say and do. Even though the knowledge that I could protect them was so new and I could tell that many of the cloaked figures were highly skeptical about Alice's lofty claims, these men and women were terrified out of their wits at the possibility of extinction and begging me to help them prevent it.

And as I looked over the room full of immortal, genuflecting figures, I was suddenly struck with a terrible epiphany.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?"


	20. Chapter 19: The Choice

**AN: Since several of you have asked about who Bella is going to be paired with in this story, I thought I would make it clear that I am not planning on pairing her with anyone. This story was never intended as a romance, and I apologize if I confused you with all the one-sided chemistry between Aro and Bella. He's just really hot and she notices. That's it. **

**I am aiming for 25 chapters in this story, and I am planning on writing a sequel which picks up after this one leaves off. Neither this story, nor the sequel will have Bella enter a romantic relationship. Once again, I am sorry if this disappoints you, but it just doesn't seem right to me to breach any happy marriages, or pair her with any of the few single vampires in cannon. Plus, vampire romance is extremely intense, and I think Bella is more worried about other things right now-like preventing the exposure of the supernatural world.**

**Don't get me wrong, I am a total sucker for reciprocated AroxBella stories, (my OTP) that just doesn't work here in my opinion. :)**

**Also, sorry for the late update, Thanksgiving happened, which was great, but took me away from my computer for a while and school has been pretty crazy as we're gearing up for finals here. Finals is the week after next, so chapter 20 might be somewhat late as well, but it will come, I promise. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen: The Choice<strong>

The pale shafts of sunlight floating into the wide turret room had dimmed a few shades since our initial arrival, a product of the fact that our visitation and the resulting "short delay" of the Volturi coven's meal had been drawn out at least a half hour if not more. It unnerved me profoundly that Aro's guard, even as they knelt imploringly before me, were waxing increasingly impatient with the waiting, and that they twitched and shuddered irritably at every thump of my thunderous heartbeat. And I found my tongue drying as both the cloak-shrouded and uncloaked figures positioned flush with the circular walls of the room flickered their wild burgundy eyes every so often in my direction, and towards the paneled wooden entrance door, through which Heidi had briefly appeared with their dinner, clearly petitioning the lifeless material to somehow summon her back so that they could at last feed.

A lump passed through my throat as I noticed that some of them were openly drooling, not making any visible effort to stem the flow of viscous venom which was dripping incessantly off their blunt teeth, cascading in wiry streams over their alabaster chins, and littering the dark reds and blacks of their clothing with damp spots. A few tongues darted out briefly to lick away the gooey mess; splotches of pink flashing against the shadowy mass of kneeling vampires, but many did not appear to care in the slightest that their chins, necks and parts of their clothes were rapidly becoming soaked in the substance. Their unblinking stares at my neck and other portions of exposed skin confirmed that they were almost utterly lost to their instincts—and thus trivial things like sticky faces and shirts held no meaning whatsoever.

It was painfully obvious based on their perturbingly animalistic behavior that we needed to wrap up this conversation now—but I was surprised to discover that, for the moment, I no longer had any pressing questions. Certainly there were still a few minor details that I was absurdly curious about, as it was an irrevocable part of my nature to be insatiably inquisitive, but I was fairly confident that I had learned everything I needed to know before the issue at hand could be resolved. _Aro should probably transform me now, and leave me in a side room to scream while he lets himself and the guard finally get their meal, _I thought. _I mean, it doesn't look like I really have any other options—either I am going to join them of my free will, or Alice is going to find some way to force me into it, so I might as well accept my fate now, _I reasoned, resignedly.

"I don't really have a choice do I?" The words left my lips as a distasteful, sorrowful plea, instead of the statement of defeated acquiescence I had been aiming for—the raw emotion burgeoning in my tone betraying the magnitude of unfairness I felt at being unknowingly led along on Alice's carefully placed leash and expected to obediently "roll-over" when the time came. Although I understood her reasoning for lying to me was sound—I would have rejected vampirism from the outset if I had understood in those first months what I did now, and would have rather hurtled myself into an erupting volcano than agreed to be transformed—it still stung to know that my best friend had meticulously concealed the darker truths from me like I was a sheltered child, rather than trusted me like an adult with the information to make an informed decision from the very beginning.

Especially when she was the only Cullen that ever appeared to treat me like my actual age.

As my words sounded in her pale, crystalline ears, Alice's pleading expression warped into one of panic and confusion—clearly this was not the reaction from me that she was hoping for. But just when she was about to try to say something to direct me back onto the path toward willing ascension into immortality, rather than compulsory acceptance, Aro quickly rose to his feet, placed a single finger against his own lips and breathed a gentle "Shhh," in her direction, before sweeping gracefully to my side with a dizzying flourish of his cape. As his proximity began to be unbearable, knowing that he was happily married to another, and likely romantically forever out of my reach, his dark, glassy eyes quickly searched mine for approval to touch me, which I expressed with a clipped nod and a furiously ashamed blush, knowing that my thoughts were perfectly safe with my barrier in place, before he tenderly reached out and clasped my hands gently in his.

I figured it was meant to be a reassuring gesture—and it was, perhaps too much so, since it took all of my willpower for me to not collapse in utter relaxation into his lean, powerful arms—but he seemed to forget the purpose behind instigating the contact of our skin for a moment as he was once again taken off-guard by the lack of memories pouring suffusing his being, and his luscious, painfully kissable-looking lips parted ever so slightly in awe. After a moment of awkward silence, where I nervously chewed on my traitorous lower lip to remind it that it was allowed nowhere near the forbidden vicinity of Aro's delicious mouth, Aro seemed to remember his original intentions, and a small, genial smile graced his angelic features before he began to lull me with the soothing, melodious tones of his godly voice.

"Not a single member of my guard is forced to be here," he spoke softly, switching his hungry eyes back and forth towards his gradually rising subordinates briefly before settling them back on mine with a piercing, stomach-fluttering intensity. "And despite Alice's allegations of calamity if you do not…" he nearly whispered into my neck, making me shudder, and Edward hiss his violent disapproval of our closeness. "I will not make you the first," Aro promised with the uttermost sincerity before abruptly drifting a step backward, still holding my hand tightly in his icy grasp, but tugging my arm gently with it so that it was outstretched between us.

"You have three options, dearest Isabella," he explained, unable to prevent a tiny smirk from pulling at the corner of his mouth, nor to stop his eyes from crinkling slightly in the hopes that I would make what he deemed to be the appropriate decision. "You may choose to become a vampire and join us," he said with an eerily wide grin, with all his venom-glossed teeth in terrifyingly plain view to convey his extreme excitement with this prospect. "…become a vampire and leave us," he added with a slightly less enthusiastic look crossing over his flawless complexion, "or… die…" he contributed finally with deep reluctance, suddenly, jarringly releasing my hand, which felt bewilderingly hot without his glacial touch.

Aro's lips hardened into a displeased line and he somberly averted his gaze for a moment as he turned over the upsetting notion of my death—indirectly at least, by his hands—before he snapped out of his pessimistic musings and his face brightened with exuberant optimism.

"Should you chose the latter, I will try my best to talk you out of it, of course," he related politely, tapping his fingertips together as if he was concocting a scheme which would do exactly that, if I were to ask for such a violent end. "It would be such a pity to see your power go to waste…" he lamented curling his hands slowly into loose fists of mock-pain, before drawing them into his chest and ducking his head in grievous sorrow. "But ultimately, I will respect your decision."

Alice gritted her teeth uncomfortably at Aro's declaration and for a few nearly imperceptible moments, it looked like she wanted to voice hearty opposition against his dangerous promises, before she seemed to change her mind at the last second and instead schooled her face into an impassive mask. Clearly she was of the opinion, that I should not be given the option to die—but she should not have worried. Death had never really been in the cards—I had meant, and still meant what I had told Alice on the plane, and Edward in the hospital, and at prom and countless other times: I wanted to become a vampire. Alice's mistrust in me had weakened this desire minorly, but Aro's faith in me, despite probably being the most aware of the threat that humankind posed to vampires, and the most cognizant of the fact that his guard could easily expose their kind in a large-scale vampire-against-vampire battle if they felt their existences were significantly threatened, conversely had significantly boosted my resolve.

The man who potentially held the fate of all vampirekind in his hands trusted me, a spontaneous, eighteen-year-old girl he had only very recently met in person, and knew very little about, since neither he nor Edward could read my thoughts, to make the right decision.

Could I really choose to let him down?

"Bella… you have to choose to die!" Edward unexpectedly shouted, his vehement declaration slicing acidly through the tense, musty air, and his severed limbs flopping with even more intensity than usual in Demetri and Felix's tenacious arms. "It's the only way that—"

"Shut up, piss-eyes!" Felix bellowed before he motioned with an irate inclination of his head to another hulking vampire like himself, though of a slightly darker complexion, who darted over to where Edward knelt against the cool turret stone, before seizing his head ferociously by the ears. The huge vampire's dusty, bloodless hands suddenly twisted Edward's head violently backward, cracking the diamond-like skin of his neck, and I was perhaps even more startled by the fact that this foreign, nameless guard member had stopped halfway through the process of tearing my ex-boyfriend's head off, than if he had finished the ghastly deed.

"No!" I screamed in horrified protest as the enormous man stormed back to his original position, leaving Edward's head hanging unnaturally backwards like a morbid door-hinge, tethered to the rest of his body with only by a small chunk of flesh. "He isn't himself, he's being controlled!" I reminded them in a piercing tone of distress.

Aro's hand comfortingly rested on my trembling shoulder and he shushed me tenderly, as he had with Alice, which immediately killed all the passionate outcries that had been bubbling in my dry mouth.

As the chill from his hands permeated the thin fabric of my nondescript blouse and he leant forward, his lips drawing back over his glistening teeth, for a split second I thought I was going to become the meal, until I realized that those lips were moving in a manner much more characteristic of speech than biting, and my ears slowly began to process his words. "I know, Isabella," he acknowledged with a rueful shake of his head. "Which is why I do not want you to listen to him. He can still hear and see us," he revealed, directing an outstretched palm towards the Edward's hallway ripped-off head. "…but he cannot speak now that his windpipe is severed."

I nodded grimly.

"Since you so evidently desire it, we will attempt to reason with him when we are done here," Aro declared amicably, which had Demetri and Felix casting each other disappointed looks—as they had hoping to finish dismembering and burning the vexing vampire themselves. "But first I want you to make your decision, unimpeded by his protests," Aro encouraged, gliding even further backwards, reaching out with both robe-clad arms in invitation to present the room with my crucial choice as he sailed to a safer distance near where Alice inflexibly stood, and dipping his heads in the tiniest of motions to demonstrate his respect for my autonomy and complete willingness to comply with whatever resolution I made.

I swallowed numbly and nodded again—I didn't like that Edward was so brutally torn apart when I now knew that his true self, however deep it was buried beneath the oppressive layers of Aria's influence, likely did not desire his own death in the slightest, but I supposed I would have to tolerate his state of morbid disarray for now. There were much more important things to consider: like the fact that Aro had left the fate of his whole world, in my clumsy hands.

"So what is your choice, dear Isabella?"

I chewed my lower lip with a vengeance as I mulled over my options, and twiddled my thumbs anxiously in front of my stomach as the consequences of each course of action flashed paralyzingly before my wide brown eyes. Clearly, if Alice's visions were going to come true (which was still impossible to say for sure, given how malleable the future apparently was, but was _extremely_ likely, given her track record), then the entire vampire race was completely depending on me to assist them in the impeding confrontation. And it wasn't like I could just selfishly say "no" and watch my whole world burn from above—that just wouldn't be right.

But on the other hand, if I were to become a vampire and join the Volturi, people would die to feed me—I was certain of it. I knew that it was technically possible for human blood to be drawn out of the veins and into a thirsty vampire mouth without killing, through various methods—bagged blood, morgue blood, blood taken in syringes surreptitiously in the night, etc. But given my inexpert skills, the savage lack of control I would have as a newborn, and the knife-slashed-across-human-flesh urging of Aro, I was fairly well assured that at least my first meal, and probably all that followed, if Aro got his way, would probably bring about someone's demise.

Perhaps if I found killing humans to be completely intolerable to my conscience as Carlisle had, then I would have the strength to seek out other methods to obtain human blood after my first feeding—but having already felt the incredible pain of newborn thirst through his memories, and having already decided that my resolve was not sufficiently firm enough to resist the murderous instincts which accompanied it, I knew that was unlikely to be the case. Mortal death to my immortal self would probably vex me more than it had troubled Edward initially, but I harbored no delusions that my aversion to it in light of such delicious temptation would be as profound as the Cullen patriarch's.

And so, if I was transformed into a vampire, I would inevitably end up becoming the virtually remorseless killer I had sworn to never become.

I shivered heartily as I realized that, although the prospect of sinking my teeth into a writhing and screaming human being and gleefully draining away all their life totally nauseated me at the moment, all witnesses thus far attested to the fact that the experience would be utterly orgasmic as a vampire. Every memory I had seen today reinforced Edward's offhand declaration that drinking human blood directly from the source was an activity which elicited a higher pleasure response than sexual intercourse. And as a virgin, who had been easily dazzled by the chaste kisses Edward and I had once shared, it was staggering to consider what that might be like…

But killing people was wrong… I had to remind myself before I was completely lost to the unfathomable hedonistic fantasy.

And yet… if I did take a position within the Volturi, I would almost definitely save hundreds, if not thousands more than I killed. _Was that not justification enough? _I contemplated uncertainly. _Those people are counting on me—no, the whole world is counting on me to protect it from chaos and devastation. _

_Could I really say no? _I thought, looking up at all the dark irises fixated on my person with a murky mixture of desperate hope, pleading and hunger in their unblinking eyes, cringing as I pictured their immortal forms torn and blown to bits all over the ruined urban landscape of Seattle amidst charred-to-the-bone mortals. _If I do… and Alice is right, all that desolation is my fault… _I realized with absolute horror, shuddering at the thought of being inadvertently responsible for so much callous massacre.

_But_ _could I really say yes?_ I considered, looking gravely down at my hands, imagining them splashed in thick pools of bright crimson, and the bodies of my human friends lying mangled with howling expressions at my feet, stiffening further as I recognized Charlie and Renee amid the grisly pile within my mind's eye. Surely, in reality I would take care not to hunt those I cared about—but that did not change the fact that every mortal on this earth was a friend, a sibling, a parent, or a lover to someone—and by feeding in the traditional manner with the Volturi I would be cruelly taking them away forever. _Can I live with myself if I destroy the loved ones of others?_ I pondered, positively terrified of the copious amounts of blood I would be stained in either way.

"I… I…" I choked out in emotional distress—I couldn't make this decision, either way was a horribly sadistic choice.

"Yes, Isabella?" Aro murmured softly, tilting his head eagerly in anticipation of my response, and tapping his fingertips together in a gesture of unbridled excitement which set my frazzled nerves even more on edge than before. Panicking, I quickly looked away from his enthusiastic complexion, and unintentionally caught Alice hazarding a longing glance in my direction to signify her desire for me to choose to fulfill my "destiny" as outlined in her apocalyptic vision.

Turning from her, unable to bear the sight of her kicked-puppy eyes, I watched in mortifying awe as Demetri and Felix paused in their taunting of Edward and donned imploring faces, and Edward himself, though halfway-headless at the moment, gritted his teeth in harsh disapproval before mouthing the words "don't do it." In the corner of the room, I noticed Jane and Alec briefly exchanging worried glances before nodding solemnly in my direction, and more towards the center I saw Athenodora nervously clutching the velvety fabric of her black gown and wringing it impatiently in her flawless alabaster hands. Several others, whom I did not recognize from Aro's memories—meaning that their faces were either shrouded from my view beneath the dark hoods of their austere cloaks, or that they had joined the coven more recently than the 1700s—also cast me beseeching looks and gripped anxiously at their venom-spotted garments, and a few of the vampires in the room even clasped their hands tightly and raised their maroon eyes skywards in what looked like fervent prayer.

But what really devastated me as I stood here in the midst of these vampires, struggling to answer a question of momentous importance, was that even Marcus stopped looking utterly lobotomized for a moment to flicker his gaze curiously in my direction. And if Marcus thought this matter was earth-shattering enough to actually pay attention, despite his own unanswered death-wish, then the pressure was definitely on.

"Have you made your decision?" Aro prompted cautiously, trying to avoid accidentally rushing me into a foolhardy choice, while simultaneously coaxing me to make my decision before his guard's robust, but steadily slipping self-control completely collapsed. He too, seemed to have noticed Marcus' uncharacteristic interest in my choice, and judging by his completely petrified expression, clearly this was not a good sign.

Strangely, I felt the sensation of my head bobbing in a nod of agreement, even though I had no idea what I was going to say. "Yes," I unexpectedly announced with my clammy mortal skin tingling with anticipation, and my mind whirring with the knowledge that once I uttered whatever I was going to say, I could not take these words back. _What are you doing?_ I inwardly begged myself. _This isn't something you can just thoughtlessly decide! The whole world is at stake here! _

But I ultimately decided to trust my gut and let whatever answer that was evidently building up on the tip of my tongue slip out—especially since that was probably the only way I would ever come to a decision—hoping beyond hope, and begging whatever cosmic forces that would listen that I might say the right thing.

The fateful syllables slide with surprising ease off the tip of tongue—so much so, that I didn't even realize what I had said until there was a collective gasp which dissipated into the tense, stale air in response to my declaration, and a subsequent sigh of relief from all, except Edward, who was making his best attempt at shrieking in protest, except for the fact that his severed windpipe prevented any sound from coming out of his viciously shaped lips.

"I want to become a vampire," I had declared coolly, the choice to embrace my heart's deepest desire feeling suddenly very right. "And I will join the Volturi as well," I added for clarification in the same bold, unwavering tone.

"Absolutely wonderful!" Aro exclaimed, suddenly rushing forward to envelope me in a hearty embrace, which was tight and slightly painful as a result of his overwhelming exuberance, but thankfully still considerate enough not to be literally bone-crushing as I had feared it might be. "You will make such a splendid immortal, Isabella," he praised flatteringly, abruptly releasing me from his unyielding grasp and dancing his excited hands in fluttering motions beneath his chin, looking for all the world like he secretly wanted to be jumping up and down like a five-year-old who just received the best Christmas present ever. "I will be _honored_ to have you as a sister our coven."

I nodded slowly—I didn't really know what else to do in response to Aro's enthusiasm, but judging by the ecstatic glittering of his burgundy eyes, that small motion alone sufficed—and I dipped my head slightly in embarrassment of his over-the-top lauding of my choice, before looking expectantly over at Alice.

Her black eyes looked unusually glossy, which disturbed me until I realized that they displayed the vampire equivalent of tears of joy, rather than bearing any indication that I had somehow failed her in making this decision. "I knew you were smart enough to make the right choice, Bella!" Alice sang, though her light, musical voice trembled with great emotion, betraying her true uncertainty over the matter.

A wry smile managed to make its way across my face—I was relieved that Alice was pleased with the outcome of all her scrupulous preparations, but I was also still somewhat torn about the notion of killing people, and it felt impossibly wrong to grin like an idiot when the price of my imminent immortality was so high. Yes, it was thrilling in a way that I would soon possess a goddess-like potency of beauty and power—no longer would I be crummy, old, boring, clumsy Bella—but I felt that to revel in that now, while I was still just as human as the Volturi's wandering "dinner" would be insensitively selfish.

I could enjoy the perks I had lusted after ever since I had met the Cullens when they were given to me—but for now I needed to step aside and allow Aro and his guards to feed. The world was safe—for now, and with my resolution to join Aro's guard firmly in place I had no intention of becoming an appetizer for their main course.

But before I could vocalize my desire to escape and permit their meal to enter, at some unseen signal, suddenly the hulking hooded guard from before lurched forward from the ring of vampires surrounding us, spat a thick, sticky glob of venom onto the jagged surface of Edward's torn neck, and harshly yanked Edward's halfway-severed head back into its proper position. The guard held Edward's face tightly by the ears for a moment, until the cells seamlessly sealed back together, before releasing them as though they were scalding hot and darting back to his original post.

As soon as Edward's vocal capabilities were restored, he emitted a terrible howl. "NOOOOO!" he screamed, his irate voice ravaged with feelings of immense betrayal, and his eyes shining with imprisoned tears of incomprehension. "They will make you into a _murderer_, Bella. A _monster. _Is that was you want?" he demanded acidly.

I wanted to guiltily avert my eyes, but my spite for Edward's rash, unsympathetic behavior proved stronger than my shame over my decision to be a bringer of death in the end. "I understand that most of the Volturi have no respect for human life," I replied neutrally, keeping my face devoid of all distress or admiration I might feel for the vampires I spoke of. "But with all that I have seen, I cannot find it in me to hate them for it," I admitted honestly, recalling Carlisle's own inability to summon enough malice in his being to despise even Caius, despite his ruthless and sadistic tendencies, and realizing that I had unintentionally adopted some of his ways of thinking as a result of having occupied his mind for a few years. "Does it bother me? Of course." I asserted, to make sure that Edward and everyone else in this room was aware of the fact that human demise still perturbed me at the moment. "Do I wish they would not pick such innocent victims? Of course," I contributed further, and I watched as Aro briefly close his eyes, looking suspiciously saddened—remorseless, but aggrieved, nonetheless—as though he was remembering the lives of his most blameless prey, which he must have experienced through his gift.

"But do I want them to not drink from humans at all?" I asked as my final rhetorical question. "No."

"What?!" Edward spat quizzically, wholly unable to understand. "WHY?"

"The Volturi need the strength human blood gives them, Edward!" I shouted with unexpected viciousness—he was really starting to get on my nerves. "They cannot afford to weak in the face of their enemies," I said, remembering Carlisle and Aro's conversation about newborns and their ridiculous strength during that first year of their immortality, understanding that they would be utterly impotent against their foes if they were to dine otherwise.

"They are the foundation of the supernatural world's peace and civilization." I reminded him, selecting those particular words on purpose as a barb, as they were very similar to the words he had used when he had described the Volturi to me initially. "We are permitted to exist because they labor so hard to protect it," I said, placing my hands on my hips authoritatively, both to signify that my statement was irrefutable, and that I was intent on becoming a part of this force to protect the world. "The Cullens may be able to live with their weaknesses because their only opponents are occasionally each other. But the Volturi cannot afford the luxury of mercy," I declared finally.

Aro's smile split into an ecstatic grin at my words and Edward made a sour expression and looked like he wanted to scream something but before his angry lips could make any more vexing noises I swiftly cut him off.

"They are not the villains, Edward!" I yelled ardently, shaking my hands wrathfully in his direction.

"They are not damn saints either!" he argued back with equal vehemence, his tousled coppery hair bristling like porcupine quills.

"I never said they were. Just that I understand I little better now why they absolutely insist upon following their instincts," I explained tersely, and Aro's face positively glowed with admiration, like I was some sort of heavenly apparition—the devotee of his wildest dreams—for saying such things.

Edward screeched at the top of his lungs: "You cannot do this! You cannot just turn your back on everything that you once were like that! Less than an hour ago you were strongly against this! How can you change your mind so suddenly? How is eating people suddenly okay?"

"While my mental barrier was gone, you could read my mind, right?" I enquired indignantly, and Edward slowly nodded his head in response. "So you know what I have seen. You _know_ that animal blood is unhealthy."

"Which is exactly why you have to choose to _die_!" He shrieked, struggling in his fierce anger to rise to his feet, despite his lack of arms, only to be harshly pressed back onto his knees by the hulking dark-skinned guard from before, and another smaller cloaked vampire, so that he would not cause any further commotion than he already had.

"No, I do not, Edward! This is _my_ choice," I staunchly declared, jabbing my index finger at my chest for emphasis. "I don't like the idea of killing people—it's horrifying and gross," I admitted with a slight shudder passing over my mortal frame as I conceptualized the gory details of my first meal, to which several vampires reacted with worried faces, fearing that my immense terror and disgust could perhaps overwhelm my desire to join them. "But if my destiny is to become a vampire, in order to save the world, then I will deal with it, for the greater good," I proclaimed audaciously, to allay Aro's and his guard's fears that I would abandon them, to express my defiance of Edward's terminal wishes for me, and to strengthen my own resolve to stick with this decision, no matter how unpleasant it might be at times.

"…no… please… Bella… no…" Edward whispered in horror. "Screw the greater good! Why don't you let all the vampires go extinct? Then no more humans would ever be killed to feed them. Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"No!" I insisted with surprising fervor, clenching my vulnerable fists and teeth as I practically seethed with rage—as though I was already one of them and the struggle to keep vampires from extinction was a part of my own struggle for survival. "And even if it were—millions of innocent humans are going to be caught in the crossfire," I reminded Edward, referring to the devastating calamities Alice believed were to come if I did not assist them in the upcoming fight. "I cannot let that happen. Is it not better that a few should die to protect the majority?" I asserted with callous logicality.

"That's—" Edward was dumbfounded by my cold reasoning. "…You can't think like that! What if some of those people were your parents? Your friends? Every human being is a friend or family member to someone. How can you take that away from them?" He screamed, and yet although there was passion in his voice, the words fell unnervingly flat—like he was reciting a script instead of speaking the words which truly burned in the depths of his soul.

"That is the cost of war," I found myself saying in an icy tone, which startled me, and from the way Alice unconsciously took a single wary step backwards, and Aro floated marginally closer in gleeful interest, I could tell that my uncharacteristic declaration had surprised them as well. "People will die, no matter what I choose, Edward," I explained with a touch more sorrow in my voice at the prospect to convey the fact that I was not entirely hardened into a shameless slaughterer as of yet, but was merely trying to put on a strong face for my anxiously trembling audience. "But hopefully, because of my intervention, that number will be significantly reduced."

"You… You… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!" Edward bellowed irately at Aro.

Aro chuckled darkly, "Ah, see… this is _so _much more satisfying than if I had killed you earlier!" he sang in utter delight, raising his arms enthusiastically towards the ceiling to demonstrate the height of his enjoyment with this turn of events, his pale, dexterous hands catching in a shaft of waning sunlight and sparkling dazzlingly. "Isabella knows that her destiny awaits," Aro continued, abruptly dropping his heavenward lifted hands to his sides as his angelic voice flowed like the smoothest satin over the syllables of my name. "And unlike you," he snarled distastefully at Edward, "she _embraces_ the price of immortality with open arms."

Aro outstretched his upward-turned palms in a motion which appeared as though he was inviting someone into a warm hug to punctuate his last statement, before he drew his pearly fingers together in front of his chest and released a deeply contented sigh. "Oh how delightful it is to see you watch your little puppet, the tool for your destruction not only successfully thwart your pitiful suicide attempt, but ascend to the very same plane of existence that you seek to rid yourself of," he breathed in appreciative awe, and afterwards his luscious, venom-glossed lips quirking into a machinating smirk.

"From the beginning, Isabella was already dead in your eyes," he recalled wistfully, tapping his immaculately sculpted chin idly as he played the memories he had seen in the younger vampire's mind over again in his head. "Whether you turned out successful through this harebrained scheme of yours, or whether your resolve slipped and she became lunch, she was dead either way. You never, in all your plans, assumed that she would somehow survive," Aro said with a small shake of his head to indicate his opinion that Edward's assumption of my inevitable passing had be infinitely foolish. "Even your worst case scenarios involved her death—by James' hand or by ours."

"You assumed, to your detriment, that Jasper's influence would keep her inquisitive mind in check until you made your move," he explained, causing me to gasp, as I learned that the youngest member of the Cullen family had somehow been involved in the tangled web of lies which had led me here, working on Edward's side, no less, rather than Alice's as I had initially assumed. "But even with your plentiful bribes of blood stolen from local morgues, and lies as to your true motives you failed to account for the fact that his powers are not limitless," Aro revealed, which caused me to a small measure of relief as I realized that Jasper had only agreed to serve Edward's foul ends while unaware of the desired outcomes, and desperate for adequate sustenance. "And so in order to keep up the pretense of sustainable 'vegetarianism' that Alice had insisted on if he chose to stay with them, he gave up on manipulating her a few weeks before you left."

Edward cursed under his breath that his plans had been so royally foiled and Alice smiled, as if she had known the outcomes of both of their decisions all along, and merely pretended not to know of their clandestine agreement to serve her own ends.

"Of course, because of his unwillingness to kill for human blood, he was not yet fully recovered from his efforts on Isabella's eighteenth birthday party, and his vulnerability to his own powerful instincts to feed, combined with the thirst he felt from the entire coven—especially yours, the call of _la tua cantante_—when her blood was spilt led to the infamous incident," he explained further. "You thought to use that opportunity to abandon her to despair, but you should know better than to try and outmaneuver Alice," Aro sighed exasperatedly, like a frustrated parent over a particularly idiotic and rebellious child. "And you should not underestimate the intelligence of young Isabella, either."

"You also presumed that the hallucination powder you stole from Aria and sprinkled over Bella at night, which caused her to see and hear you whenever she experienced high rushes of adrenaline, would send her desperately barreling off the nearest cliff to her death."

I gasped—_after he left, Edward had drugged me to try and get me to kill myself? _I could scarcely believe it, and yet I had no reason to suspect that Aro was relating anything but the truth. He had nothing to gain from lying at this point, and I knew from his memories that he had a particular revulsion towards unnecessary dishonesty. Still, it was mind-boggling to consider that Edward was really so desperate to die as to take such ridiculously drastic measures.

"You never imagined that she would be _relatively_ sane enough in her attempts to see you, and thus survive, but instead you jumped to hasty conclusions when you received that fateful phone call, and opted for the most melodramatic method of exposure, never pausing to consider that there might have been a terrible misunderstanding." Aro shook his head once again in disbelief. "Truly, Aria's spell has positively demented your mind."

Edward growled, low and menacing, but although Demetri and Felix gave him their iciest glares in response, Aro completely ignored him—not wanting to give him the morbid satisfaction of his intense displeasure. Without looking at Edward directly, Aro gestured offhandly towards the two guards forcibly pressuring his armless body to his knees, "Take him to the dungeons and let him reassemble himself. We will deal with his transgression later." The guards wordlessly nodded their assent and swiftly swept out of the room through the discreet wood-paneled entry door with Demetri and Felix trailing not too far behind, carrying Edward's angrily twitching arms. As they slid the door carefully shut upon their departure, I heard more screaming from Edward that he wanted to die, before a sickening crack echoed through the stone hallway beyond and an eerie silence suffocated the room.

"They didn't kill him, did they?" I asked in frantic desperation.

"No," Aro said with the utmost confidence in his loyal servants. "I would imagine that they simply shut him up for now—his howling voice can be rather grating on the ears after a while."

Numbly, I nodded to convey my understanding, and awkwardly clasped my hands behind my back, rocking back and forth on my heels as I pondered what I should do next—since the sizable crowd of vampires in the room were growing increasingly agitated in their extreme thirst. Really, they ought to feed—right now—and it was probably better for me to not be present while that occurred, lest they become confused and sink their teeth into me instead of the ill-fated tourists that Heidi had skillfully amassed for them.

Glancing over at Alice, who held her mouth firmly shut and refused to breathe, I frowned as I wondered if she intended to feed here as well and also wondered Jasper was aware of her plans to join the Volturi and what he would do in light of this information. Alice had said that his gift made hunting in the traditional manner difficult, but it was also clear that she cared for him deeply and the two would not want to be separated for too long. Knowing the Volturi's policy of inviting the mates of powerful members into the fold as well, I was fairly assured that Jasper would be given a place among their ranks if he desired it, based on Alice's merits, if his own were not sufficient enough to garner Aro's interest. But I simply couldn't imagine him participating in the feeding in the throne room at all—not if the fear of his victims was really so traumatizing to motivate him to live in a grating state of starvation while struggling to combine all the bagged blood Carlisle could afford to smuggle home with large quantities of animal blood to keep him barely alive.

Shaking away these thoughts, and recalling the urgency of the situation at hand, I resolutely began walking towards the entry door to the throne room, intent on giving Alice, Aro and the Volturi guard the space to hold their monthly meal—forcibly excising all the grisly images my mind summond of those innocent, picture-snapping faces being cruelly twisted with insurmountable terror and bathed richly in their own blood as their throats were savagely torn into with diamond-strong teeth. I was going to join them someday, so I would eventually have to learn to get my extreme nausea at the sight of blood and death under control.

"And where might you be headed, dearest Isabella?" Aro enquired curiously, drifting a few steps towards me as I paced determinedly across the circular stone floor, my sneakers padding softly over the large sandy-colored rock.

"I figured it would be best if I left for a moment so that you could…" I choked on the word, "_feed_."

"Ah, yes. How considerate of you." Aro beamed, displaying a full set of blinding white, highly venomous teeth. "But I think it would be rather educational for you to stay," he countered, gesturing cordially towards the thrones, the richly embroidered cuffs of his robes glinting in the sparse light which filtered into the dim room from the windows above. "Take my seat in the center and watch, I assure that you will be perfectly safe there."

"…You want me to watch you eat?" I could scarcely believe my ears—_What was this man thinking, inventing me to witness what I could only imagine would prove to be a stomach-churningly horrific scene? _

"You will be joining us in these sorts of activities shortly yourself, if I am not mistaken," he elucidated with a single elegantly raised eyebrow, evidently perplexed by my sudden reluctance in light of my previous declaration to join the Volturi.

"…Yes, but…" It seemed horribly out-of-place for me to be a spectator to their gruesome slaughter while I was still so physically vulnerable.

"You are concerned because you are still human that it will be distressing to witness," he stated in cognizant clarification, and I grimly nodded.

"Then it is best that you do stay," he soothed gently with a purring, velvety voice which sent a shock of tingling shivers down my spine. "It will not suddenly become any less upsetting upon your transformation—so I would recommend that you start to become accustomed to it now, before the thirst becomes overwhelming," he suggested reasonably, his perceptive eyes discreetly relaying the fact that he saw through the façade I was putting up for everyone else's sake and understood perfectly the extreme level of unease that the notion of causing human death still caused me. "There is still time to rescind your decision, if you do not like what you see, but once you become one of us… there is no turning back," he cautioned gravely. "I will not kill you if you find vampirisim is not to your liking."

I nodded again and with one last glance at the thirstily fidgeting congregants in the room, I quickly scampered up the short stone steps to ebony throne resting in the middle of the dais and uncertainly settled myself it, feeling like I was utterly disgracing the momentous regality of the elaborate furniture with my unworthy mortal presence. Marcus gave me a bored look as he sat in the throne to my right before he rose from his seat and slowly drifted over to the center of the room where the vampires had begun to converge, his thick, sumptuous black cape billowing out behind him as he moved with surprising purpose and eagerness in each powerful stride. Clearly, even in his state of perpetual impassivity, he was not immune to the physical effects of hunger, and his stomach at the very least, was anxious to at last be satisfied.

"Jane? Go tell Heidi that we are ready for our meal now," I heard Aro instruct the tiny blonde, who obediently and eagerly scurried out into the hall to fetch their food. After she had disappeared and the enthusiastic clacking of her low heels against the stone hallway beyond faded into uncomfortable silence, I watched, startled, but not entirely surprised as Alice moved gracefully in sync with the other vampires towards the center of the room in anticipation of the influx of helpless, unfortunate mortals who were soon to pour into their midst. Aro smiled seeing her take her place amid the thirsty crowd and the two exchanged a clipped conversation, whispered too low for me to hear, before Aro gave her a silent nod of assent and stretched forth his hand toward the door through which their meal was to arrive in order to invite her to the feast.

So it seemed that Alice planned on joining them now.

For some reason, that made me feel extremely sick—perhaps because in spite of all that I had learned today, the information was all still so new, and my mind still struggled to reconcile the false, friendly, animal-drinking Alice I had known for the past year with the altruistic, but masterfully manipulative, human-drinking Alice she truly was. She had told me on the plane that she already considered me her sister—_did she still mean that? _I wondered as she skipped enthusiastically to the front of the crowd, who bewilderingly made no protest as she stood closest to the door, despite not being officially inducted (so far as I could tell) into the Volturi yet. Perhaps, since her thirst was probably the most intense at the moment, they permitted her to pass—or perhaps they simply did not want to upset Aro by antagonizing his latest prized acquisition for a closer spot.

Either way, shortly after Alice had settled into a comfortable stance at the front of the anxious crowd of twenty-five or so vampires standing roughly thirty feet from the entrance to allow Heidi and the tourists adequate space to filter into the room, the entrance doors creaked open ominously, and Jane flitted in through the passageway. As she quickly took a choice spot beside Alice, her deep black cloak swirling threateningly as she glided into position, Heidi sauntered into our midst with a distressingly smaller gathering of tourists than I had seen originally—most likely because some had "straggled" and been eaten by Caius and the others who left with him already.

The dark eyes of Aro's guard glittered with unrestrained delight as the mahogany-haired vampire made her dramatic reappearance, and their tongues flicked anxiously out of their mouths as the tour group trailed hesitantly in after her, only one of the particularly naïve looking tourists snapping away photos of the thirsty crowd before him. I was upset to notice that every other tourist looked much more worried now than before, glancing around wildly at their surroundings and the hungry congregate of vampires inching closer to their prey, seemingly looking for an explanation from Heidi as to what this was all about, and fearfully wondering where the rest of the tour group had gone. A short Hispanic woman, anxiously clutching a rosary and mumbling incomprehensibly in Portuguese, tried to swat away the flashing camera in the man's hands and explain to him the urgency of the situation, but he didn't understand a word she said, and was much too absorbed in trying to capture every angle of the magnificent beings before him, to care.

Once all of the remaining tourists had piled into the room, Aro floated forward and all the vampires parted like the Red Sea before Moses to allow him passage to the front. As he moved slowly forward, Heidi surveyed the vampires in front of her as they looked over the crowd hungrily, and stared at me and my unusual place on the throne in curiosity for a moment before she must have decided to ask Aro about it later. Aro stopped a few feet short of where Heidi stood, between the two groups, human and vampire.

"Welcome home, Heidi," he purred in a smooth, buttery voice that made my veins run hot with jealousy. "Anything interesting I should know about before we begin?" he asked politely before routinely taking her hand in his.

"Not particularly," she said with an absent smile as poured over her recent thoughts. "They are a fairly typical group, it seems."

The crowd of humans looked totally confused by the exchange between the ancient vampires, and a mummer of frightened whispers passed through them as they struggled to process what was going on. I wasn't able to make out much from my position on the throne, but I clearly heard someone say, pointing an accusatory finger towards Aro's twin daughters, who stood eerily still slightly behind Alice, "Do you see their eyes? Red eyes, all of them. That doesn't strike you as creepy?", and another "I knew this free trip was too good to be true."

They were starting to become suspicious, but as I gripped with intricately carved armrests of Aro's throne with white-knuckled intensity as I watched the terrible scene unfolding around me, I knew that soon it would no longer matter what they suspected of the vampires standing in an anxious half-circle across from them. Because they would be dead—and dead men tell no tales.

"I can see that," Aro acknowledged in response to Heidi's memories, releasing her hands before swiftly turning to the crowd and spreading his arms wide in a gesture I recognized all-too-well from his memoires—the signal to begin the feast. I cringed as I heard him speak the words, knowing that this time, I would not be mercifully spared from witnessing the experience—this time, it would not fade to black.

No, I would see and hear everything—in grisly, firsthand high definition.

"Welcome, guests! Welcome to Volterra!" he sang, and no sooner than the words had left his lips, the walls echoed with blood-curdling screams as the vampires all at once began to descend on their prey.


End file.
